


The Tranquil Solution

by fangirl42



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied Torture, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, Romance, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-11 12:37:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 32,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl42/pseuds/fangirl42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>F!Hawke and Fenris-centric. AU based on the premise that Alrik decides to continue working on his plan without Meredith's approval and picks the Champion as his next victim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> The Tranquil Solution is the only quest in DA2 that you can actually ignore completely. If you take the quest, after killing him, you learn that Alrik's plan is turned down by both the Divine and Meredith as being too severe. In this dark AU, Hawke turns down Anders request to stop Alrik, believing that Anders is being paranoid. However, it turns out that Alrik is in fact using the rite of tranquility on as many mages as he can get away with. His attention turns to Hawke. He sees her as the epitome of all that is wrong with Kirkwall and sets out to capture her and make her tranquil.
> 
> The timeframe of the story is Act 3 after Hawke and Fenris deal with Danarius and reunite. While it's mentioned in party banter that Varric watches out for Anders, the assumption is always made that a mage Hawke needs no such protection, especially after Act 2 and her crowning as Champion.
> 
> The non-canon characters of Cormac and Durstan are two Fereldan refugees that Varric pays for information. They are informants or eyes. Nominally they are set to watch Anders and report to Varric if the Templars are getting too close. They are aware, however, that the Champion is a friend of both Varric and Anders and take the initiative to alert Varric when they see her with the Templars.
> 
> The first two chapters will switch from Hawke's perspective to Cormac/Durstan's and have overlapping timelines.

_“You are to be made Tranquil, Champion. As an example to all apostates in Kirkwall, but before that happens, we will break you. When we are done with you, you will beg for the Rite of Tranquility.”_

Those we the last words Andrea Hawke, Dre to her friends, heard before the magebane the Templars had poisoned her with pulled her into unconsciousness. She had left her Hightown estate at sunrise, heading for the Gallows and Solivitus’ herbalist stand. Slipping out without waking anyone was a task that Dre liked to challenge herself with on occasion. Her staff, Orana in particular, seemed to have the ability to just know whenever she was up and invariably greeted her with a cheery Good Morning, Mistress and Can I get you something, Messere no matter how early she tried to escape notice. 

So, this morning, when she had successfully managed to evade their sometimes smothering attention, she was feeling a bit smug. The sun had barely begun to light the Hightown pathways and the streets seemed virtually deserted. Confident and complacent, Dre headed towards her destination without paying much attention to her surroundings. Instead, her thoughts were focused on the list of items she needed to pick up from Solivitus.

So focused, in fact, that she only belatedly heard the clink of armor behind her; followed quickly by a sharp prick at her neck. She swatted at it, thinking it a biting insect, but her hand pulled out a dart. She stopped in her tracks and looked down in surprise at the tiny feathered bolt entwined in her fingertips. Glancing back, she saw three Templars behind her, hands on their swords. She reached for the staff strapped to her back before remembering that she had left it behind, thinking its encumbrance unnecessary for a quick trip. 

By the time she had processed this information and kicked herself mentally for being stupid, the poison began to work its way into her system. A wave of dizziness swept over her and she stumbled, reaching out automatically for the nearest Templar.

He took her arm in his steel gauntleted hand and leaned in to whisper, “You are to be made Tranquil, Champion. As an example to all apostates in Kirkwall, but before that happens, we will break you. When we are done with you, you will beg for the Rite of Tranquility.”  
His smug chuckle accompanied her into oblivion.  
~  
As her senses slowly returned, the first thing Dre noticed was the smell. The unique and utterly indescribable mélange of raw sewage, unwashed people and rat droppings told her she was in the Undercity. As always, the first breath of the fetid air caused her to gag and she coughed. Her throat was dry and the bitter cloying taste of magebane coated her mouth. It seemed these Templars were taking no chances and had dosed her again. 

The sound of tiny scurrying feet let her know she was not alone, wherever she was. Listening, she tried to discern if anything larger was in the room with her. As she strained to hear, she realized that she was naked with her wrists tied together by rough, coarse rope. She was suspended by her arms and the sensation of being bound momentarily panicked her. Wrenching open her eyes, she took in her surroundings as she spun on the rope.

The room was small, no more than 7 feet across from to wall. The dirt packed floor and stone walls confirmed her sense of smell. Darktown, most definitely. A single torch lit the room with a guttering light. Aside from herself, the only other thing in the room was a small table. She took note of the manacles on its legs and the single iron bolt on the top. She shuddered to think what use it would be put to.

Her wild spins caused the rope to cut into her wrists and she hissed in pain. Completing her frantic survey of the room, she found the single door that had been to her back. It opened as she watched and in stepped a Templar. Without his helm, Andrea easily recognized Ser Arlik. Even among the Kirkwall Templars he was noted for his cruelty. Many rumors of torture and abuse swarmed around his name and Dre cringed. Anders had tried to tell her years ago that Arlik was a madman, something about a Tranquil Solution, if she remembered correctly. Seems she should have listened more closely and not dismissed it as more of Anders’ ravings.

“So, you’re finally awake, Champion. Good. I was wondering when the fun would begin.” 

As he entered the room, two other Templars, fully armed and armored, followed him. Hawke watched the men as they positioned themselves, twisting and trying to keep all of them in sight, before focusing her attention on Arlik. 

“You can’t possibly believe you’ll get away with this, Arlik,” Dre sneered.

“Who is going to stop me, Champion? You ventured out at the break of dawn, alone. Not even your smelly Mabari to guard you. Who knows you are gone? And if they do, who would do anything about it? You’re the Champion of Kirkwall. You can take care of yourself.” He laughed at that and stalked closer. “Oh, perhaps that last bit was an exaggeration. Still, before you’re knife-ear lover notices that you’ve gone missing, I will be done. And the greatest threat to Kirkwall will be removed.”

“The greatest threat to Kirkwall? You mean, you’re finally going to take down Meredith? This I have to see.”

“Do not speak of the Knight Commander, mage!” The growled warning was followed by a fist to the kidney, delivered by the Templar behind her. Dre winced and spun from the impact. She grasped the rope with her hands and stopped herself from turning away from Arlik. Breathing hard through her nose and trying to ignore the pain, she focused on the smirking face before her.

“Fenris will come for me and you will die. Rather horribly, in fact.” She glanced over her shoulder and spat. “You, too. Have your ever witnessed Fenris in all his glory as he crushes a man’s heart with his hand? I have.” She turned back to Arlik, glaring. “You are all dead men.”

“Well then, we should take what pleasure we can before the end comes, eh men?”

The laughter at her back raised the hackles on her neck. This was going to be bad. Very bad. Surely, someone would notice when she didn’t return for breakfast. Though how soon Bodhan would grow concerned was the real problem.

“I think I will enjoy breaking you, mage. This is the best part of my job.”


	2. Chapter Two

The sound of armored men, their gruff voices in low conversation, woke Cormac from his light sleep. No one slept deeply when they slept on the “streets” of Darktown. It had been a lesson learned long ago when he had been in Kirkwall no more than a week. Opening his eyes to mere slits, he feigned sleep as he eyes tracked the sound.

Templars. This couldn’t be good. He noticed the last man in the group of three held a body across his shoulder. As he passed, he strained to see if he recognized the poor mage being dragged off to Maker knew what fate. His eyes flew open in shock when he realized that he indeed did know this mage. It was none other than the Champion. 

As the Templars moved down the nearby stairs, Cormac crept out of the shadows. He followed silently behind them, keeping his tall, lanky frame to the numerous dark spaces. The dwarf had asked him to keep an eye out for the Templars and let him know if they seemed overly interested in the Healer, but he knew the Champion was his friend, as well. He knew he had to learn where they were taking her.

As the men and their still form traipsed along the dank corridors, Cormac kept pace. Back far enough to stay out of sight, but not so far that he would lose sight of them completely. It helped enormously that the Templars weren’t bothering to be discrete. They joked amongst themselves and the snatches of conversation that he overheard made his blood run cold.

Cormac knew what the Templars did to mages when they brought them to Darktown. Everyone did, really. Maybe the nobles in their fancy Hightown homes were ignorant, but down here, the trash of Kirkwall knew. It irked him that the Templars believed no one in Darktown would stop them, mostly because they were correct. The Templars were the power in Kirkwall and the desperate people who made their homes in Darktown steered clear of the powers that be.

Well, this time, he swore, this time they had gone too far.

He stopped when the Templar in the lead stopped to unlock a door. Melting into the shadows of a nearby stairwell, Cormac watched as the men entered the room and shut the door behind them. He knew were they were. This was one a several forgotten cellars that dotted the Undercity. Most had been blocked off from the Hightown estates above. The only difference here was this one was locked from the Darktown side. When the door shut behind the last man, Cormac heard the lock snap home. 

Bolting from his hiding spot, he ran back, retracing his steps until he encountered another one of the dwarf’s set of eyes. Kicking the sleeping man in shins, he hissed at him to wake up.

“Get up, Durstan. ‘S important.”

The sleeping youth muttered a curse and swung one arm at Cormac, who deftly dodged it. Another kick, this time to the ribs and with more force, finally succeeded.

“Andraste’s flaming cunt, leave off!”

“Durstan, you need to get to the Dwarf.”

“Have the blighted mage hunters come for the Healer?”

“Worse. They’ve got the Champion. I think it’s Arlik that has her, too.”

“Shit,” Durstan cursed and clambered to his feet. “Where?”

“Back down there. In one of the old cellars. You know, the one just past Little Eddy’s roost.”

“I know it,” he nodded.

“I’ll go watch and make sure they don’t leave. You go get the Dwarf.”

“Maker help me, but I don’t feel one bit sorry for what’s about to come down on their heads.”

Cormac nodded and ran back to the cellar door. Finding a place in the shadows, he settled down to wait, confident that Durstan would get Tethras. Damn mage hunters. They’ve gone too far this time, he thought.  
~  
Durstan ran like his very life depended on it. For all he knew, it did. Heading into Lowtown, he made a direct line for the Hanged Man, pushing aside anyone who got in his way. As he traveled, the streets were filling up as the city awakened. 

Breathless and holding on to the growing stitch in his side, Durstan burst into the Hanged Man and charged up the steps to the Dwarf’s door. He hammered on it, ignoring the cries from the bartender below.

Behind the door, he could hear grumbled cursing and a chair being overturned. He didn’t stop his banging, however. 

Finally, the door was flung open and he was staring down into the greatly irritated face of Varric Tethras from behind a crossbow. A very large crossbow.

“Maker’s balls, this better be important,” Varric bellowed.

“It is, serah. It is.”

“Durstan? What the hell are you doing here?” 

Varric lowered Bianca and motioned for the boy to enter. He closed the door behind him and ushered the gasping youth to a chair. 

“Take your time.”

“Yes, ser,” Durstan said, struggling for breath. When he had refilled his burning lungs, he spoke, his words coming out in a frenzied tumble. “It’s the Templars, serah. TheyhavetheChampion.” 

Varric’s normal ruddy complexion paled. “What the hell? You mean Blondie?”

“No serah. Cormac saw ‘em. They has the Champion.”

“Shit.” Varric grabbed his coat and stuffed himself into it. “Do you know where?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Good. You and I are going to Hightown. But first, we’re waking up Isabella.”

Varric pushed Durstan out the door and headed up the hallway to Isabella’s room. He kicked the door open and was greeted by the sight of the pirate in a compromising position with one of her many “suitors”.

“Hey!”

“The Templars have Hawke. Let’s go.”

One benefit of wearing next to nothing was the fact that it was quick to get dressed. Isabella stood up, straightened her tunic and grabbed the daggers she’d thrust into the headboard. Slapping them into their sheaths on her back, she caught up with Varric as he hit the door.

Together, they ran the distance to Hightown. Varric was out of breath and panting hard by the time they made it, but he soldiered on with grim determination. Cursing himself for being satisfied no one would attack the Champion, he prayed to the Ancestors that they’d be in time. 

“You go check for Fenris at his place. I’ll check Hawke’s. If he’s there, bring him back to Hawke’s. We’ll take Blondie’s passage.”

Isabella nodded and ran towards the stairs leading to Fenris’ mansion while Varric and Durstan headed towards the Amell estate. The Hightown crowd parted like the sea around them. Any other day, it would have made Varric chuckle to see the nobles and their lackeys keep clear of those they deemed unworthy. Today, he was focused on finding Fenris.

His concern grew with each step. What could they have been thinking, he wondered. It was common knowledge that the Champion was an apostate, but Meredith had overlooked it. Considering that the city might riot if she openly called for Hawke to enter the circle, he wasn’t surprised. So, it probably wasn’t Meredith.

“So, Durstan isn’t it? Any idea who has the death wish?”

“Serrah?”

"Who has Hawke?"

“Oh! Ser Arlik.”

“Shit.”

“Yes, ser. I’m looking forward to that bastard dying.”

“Oh, he will, my boy. He will. I just hope we get there in time.”

The two fell silent as they continued to Hawke’s mansion. Varric was out of breath but resolute. This was his best friend and he’d rather die himself than fail to reach her before that bastard made her Tranquil. The very thought of Hawke, his sarcastic, funny, beautiful friend turning into an emotionless drone made him sick. 

At the mansion door he met the elf, Orana, headed out to the market for fresh food. Gasping, he rested a hand on the wall and blocked her path.

“Good morning, messere.”

“Orana. Is Fenris here?”

“No ser. Neither he or Mistress Hawke are home.”

“Damn it.”

“Is there something wrong, messere?”

Varric looked at the young elf and forced himself to smile. “Nothing to worry about, Orana. Is Bodhan up?”

“Of course. Let me go get him for you.”

“No, no. I can handle it. You go do your shopping,” he said as he ushered her out of the doorway. “Go along. We’ll be fine.”

Orana frowned but left as Varric charged through the barely open door, pushing Durstan in front of him. Slamming the door shut behind him, he immediately began shouting for Bodhan. The older dwarf manservant came running, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Messere Tethras! What can I do for you?”

“Bodhan, brother, I need you to go get Aveline. Tell her to meet us in Darktown. I’ll have someone meet her at the Clinic.”

“What’s happened?”

“The Templars have Hawke.”

“Ancestors save us! I’ll go at once.”

Bodhan left the house at a dead run. When Durstan made to follow, Varric grabbed him by the arm and led him to the cellar. “Lucky for us, I know a way into Darktown that’s a lot closer.”  
~  
Isabella crashed through Fenris’ door, ignoring the broken boxes, bloodstains and general disarray. 

“Fenris! It’s Isabella! Hawke needs you!”

Upstairs, Fenris heard Isabella’s entrance. Grimacing, he headed to the head of the stairs and peered down. What could she possibly want this early in the morning, he wondered.

“Fenris!”

“I am here.”

“Come on, we need to get back to Hawke’s.”

“What for?”

Isabella frowned. She really didn’t want to be the one to tell Fenris this news. Damn broody elf might just go ghost on her. Taking a deep breath, she straightened up to her full height and set her feet, preparing for whatever might happen.

 

“The Templars have Hawke.”  
She watched as the customary glower on Fenris’ face faded. The look that replaced it, well, it was one she would have gladly gone her entire life without seeing. His face seemed to simply melt. Gone was the glower and in its place was a naked vulnerability that hurt to see.

For a heartbeat, he stood perfectly still. Then he screamed, burst into his ghost form, and surged down the stairs. He moved so fast that Isabella lost sight of him until she felt the tips of his gauntlets grab her upper arms and shake her.

“Where is she!” he bellowed.

“Fenris,” Isabella said softly. “Listen to me. One of Varric’s eyes in Darktown brought the news. He can take us to her but you need to calm down.”

Fenris closed his eyes and struggled to take control of his emotions. The fear and anger that gripped him was overpowering and it would be so easy to take it out on the pirate. He let go of Isabella’s arms and raked a shaky hand through his hair. 

“Lead me.”

Isabella nodded and ignored the blood welling from her arms where Fenris’ gauntlets had broken the skin. Turning, she led him silently out of his house.

The trek to Hawke’s house was a short one and neither broke the silence as they ran. Those they passed on the street, backed away from them. Something in their faces made more than one step back in terror. Neither of them noticed in the least.

The door to Hawke’s estate was open. Bodhan had forgotten to close it in his haste to leave. Closing the door softly behind her, Isabella led Fenris to the cellar where Varric waited. 

“Varric’s down there. Hopefully, he has the traps disarmed by now and we can go.”

Fenris only nodded and took the lead, showing the pirate down the stairs. The cellar below Hawke’s estate had been cleaned up since her first foray inside with Carver. It was a warren of small rooms, but Fenris had been here with Carver and Hawke when they robbed and killed the slavers who had won the estate from her Uncle Gamlen. He remembered the path to the small room that opened on the Undercity.

When they arrived, Varric was standing up from the last trap, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow.

“She amped these up since the last time I was down here. That last one nearly fried my ass.” Looking at Fenris, Varric grew silent. He crossed the room on his short legs and placed a gloved hand on Fenris arm.

“Varric. Are you sure?” The words burst out of Fenris with that gentle touch. “If this is a trick,” he growled, staring menacingly at him.

“I’m sorry, Fenris, but you need to calm down. I trust that Durstan and Cormac know better than to make something like this up.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

“Nothing, now.”

Varric took to the stairs; the others close on his heels. The cellar passage entered the Undercity near Ander’s clinic. Durstan headed for the stairs that led deeper into Darktown, but Varric stopped at the clinic door. Fenris pushed passed him, intent on following Durstan.

“Fenris. We need Anders.”

“No.”

“See reason, elf. If Hawke is hurt…”

At that Fenris turned back and grabbed Varric around the throat, lifting him off the ground. Pushing his face into Varric’s he growled.

“Do not even think it.”

Isabela placed a hand on Fenris’ arm and pushed down. “Fenris. Minutes count in these things. Would you want Hawke to die because of your irrational hatred of Anders? We take him with us.”

Fenris closed his eyes and desperately tried to calm himself. He lowered the dwarf to the ground and let go his throat. He nodded, once and turned back to Durstan. When he reached the boy waiting at the stairs, Durstan flinched. Fenris stopped, hanging his head.

“I am sorry, Varric. Get the abomination.” Fenris swallowed audibly and his markings flared. “Venhedis!”  
~  
The four of them followed Durstan silently as he led them deeper into the Undercity. Begrudging every second, Fenris kept close on the boy’s heels, his sword out and ready. His mind was a blur of emotion – anger, terror and despair seemed to toss him about like a ship in a storm. He wanted to rush past Durstan and charge into battle, but he had just enough control left to recognize he had no idea where the bastards had taken her.

Their mad charge through Darktown didn’t go unnoticed, of course. The poor, the Coterie, the Carta – all of them watched in awe and not a little fear as they ran through the warrens. No one stepped in their way, however. The look on Fenris’ face was enough to discourage even the maddest and most desperate among them. Finally, they made one last turn and Cormac stepped out of the shadows. 

“They’re still inside,” he said, gesturing to the locked door down the hall. “I haven’t heard anything…”

No sooner than he had spoken than the air was rent by a scream. Muffled though it was, it tore straight into Fenris’ heart.


	3. Chapter Three

The sound of her screams caused him actual physical pain. It felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest and he had a sudden, fleeting sympathy for every slaver he’d every killed in that way. In all the time he had known her, Andrea had never screamed. Not like this. This was a sound filled with such pain and anguish, as he had never heard. Not when the Arishok’s blade skewered her side. Not when they’d been surrounded by darkspawn in the Deep Roads and she’d almost died before he could hack his way through to her. Time seemed to stand still as the air was rent with her sobs, pleading for someone unseen to stop. Not when she had ended Carver’s suffering just days from the surface. Not when that damned Quentin revealed the misbegotten horror that was left of her mother. Not until now had he ever heard her beg.

The sound wrapped around his heart like a chain and pulled him forward. Unthinking, he kicked open the locked door and surged into the anteroom. His vision narrowed and the sound tugged him forward. He caught glimpses of fragmented images as he moved – rats scurrying across his path; a three foot long caning rod, propped up against the wall, blood dripping down its side; the glare of his lyrium brands reflecting off silverite armor; and finally his fist crushing someone’s heart while his sword removed someone else’s head from their shoulders.

Somewhere along the way, the sound had changed; the tenor dropped and men’s voices filled the air and were suddenly stilled.

In the silence, Fenris came to his senses kneeling in the blood soaked dirt floor with Andrea in his arms. He brushed her honey-blonde curls from her face and whispered to her in Tevinter.

“Mortui sunt. Te securum. Nemo te malum. Non passurum. Revertere ad me, amica mea, ne deseret me.”

Her slender body was nude in his arms and bloody stripes reminiscent of the predators in the jungles of Seharon covered her from the neck down. It seemed her face was the only unmarked part of her. Fenris knew the cuts caused by the caning rod covered her backside as well, but he was more concerned by the growing warmth he felt soaking his legs as she lay across his lap. Andrea was bleeding out in his arms from wounds his mind skittered away from thinking about.

“Anders!” he bellowed, never lifting his eyes from her face.

Vaguely, he was aware that the others had joined him in the room. He remembered Varric’s muttered oath and Isabela’s grunt as she pulled her blades free of a body.

Still, he was not prepared for the voice that answered his cry.

“Well, well, what have we here? Perhaps it is fitting that she will die as she left so many others to die.”

He curled protectively around Andrea and glared at the mage. Blue light flickered in Anders eyes and travelled across his body like lightening. The look of hatred on his face took Fenris’ breath away. They glared at each other until Isabela stepped between them and slapped Anders hard across the face.

“Let him go, you bastard. “

Anders staggered under the blow and covered his face with his hands. Shaking, he cried out in horror before lifting his head.

“Maker’s breath, what have I done.”

“Nothing. Yet, “ Isabela purred in his ear. “But perhaps you should.”

Nodding, Anders knelt beside Fenris. He reached out towards Hawke and Fenris recoiled.

“Let me help her, Fenris.”

“If she dies, Abomination, you die.”

Anders just nodded and began his healing trance. As the familiar blue glow surrounded Andrea, Fenris held her close. For several tense moments, he feared the worst as the blood continued to gush over his legs, until at last the flow trickled to a stop.

Anders sat back, panting, his face covered in sweat. All of them waited for his verdict. Varric stood behind Fenris, one hand on Bianca as he watched the mage. Isabela knelt beside him, what was left of Hawke’s robes in her hands. Durstan cowered in the corner, amazed at what he had seen transpire in the last few moments.

“We need to take her to the clinic. There is still much more that needs to be done. I will need lyrium and poultices.”

“No.”

“Fenris, I…”

“No, Blondie. The Elf is right. Hawke goes home. You can grab what you need from your clinic on the way. The quicker we get her home, the better.”

Anders looked up at the dwarf, saw that he was completely serious, and shrugged. 

“Fine.”

Fenris stood up, Andrea still cradled in his arms. Isabela helped him wrap her up in the tattered robes and then led the way out. Varric followed, motioning Durstan to join them. The four of them left Anders sitting on the floor and threaded their way back through the cellar to the Darktown streets.

Varric pulled Cormac and Durstan aside as Fenris and Isabela headed back towards Hawke’s cellar. Three Templar bodies needed to disappear immediately and Varric was knew just what to do. He sent Cormac off to a Coterie contact with instructions to dispose of the bodies without the usual looting. A certain rogue owed Varric a not inconsiderable sum in gambling debts that would disappear alongside the Templars if all went well. Durstan was left to guard the cellar until the cleaning crew arrived and then both eyes had instructions to meet him at Hawke’s estate.

Cormac departed in a flash as Anders left the cellar. Seeing Varric, he fell into step as the dwarf set out to catch up with the others. They walked in silence for a good while. Varric’s eyes flicked around the path watching for signs of trouble. His eyes never rested in one place for too long and not at all on the mage.

Anders sighed and trudged along aside.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not the one you need to apologize to, Blondie.”

“She’s not here.”

“Not Hawke. Hawke didn’t hear Justice.”

“The elf?”

“He didn’t want you to come. We had to force him to accept the idea that you might be helpful. He called for you. You, Anders. Not the Abomination. Not Mage. He used your name. And Justice answered him.”

Anders frowned, thinking back. He remembered stepping into the room and seeing Fenris killing two men at once. One of them had been…no, he wasn’t going to think about what that bastard had been doing when Fenris ripped out his heart. Fenris tossed him aside, tossed Alrik aside, and he had been able to see Dre, strapped down to the table, bleeding. So much blood. And then Justice had…well, he told people that he and Justice were one, merged, but sometimes the spirit surged forth. Took over. This was one of those times. He had been…almost gleeful…at the sight of Alrik’s dead body and Dre’s torn and bloody one. He remembered her disdain for his warnings about Alrik and his Tranquil Solution. Seeing her bloody body being taken down and held by the elf was a vindication to Justice. Now she would see. Now the elf would see. And if she died, so much the better.

Then Isabela had slapped him and he, Anders, had to hear the echo of his words and the look of wild fury in Fenris’ eyes. He had wished death on the woman he loved. He was truly the abomination that Fenris called him. 

“I don’t think he’ll listen. I’ll be lucky if he lets me close enough to complete the healing that she needs.”

“He’ll let you help Hawke, Blondie.”

“He’s been right all along, Varric. I am an abomination.”

“I don’t really care who’s right. Not now.”  
~  
No one challenged Fenris and Isabela for as fierce as they had appeared on the way to Hawke, the sight of Fenris covered in blood and carrying a blood soaked body was even more so. Halfway back, they were met by Aveline and Donnic.

Fenris pushed past Aveline, his pace never slowing as he headed resolutely towards Andrea’s cellar. Aveline watched him, a frown furrowing her brow. She started to reach out a hand, perhaps to stop him, when Isabela stopped her.

“Leave him be, Aveline.”

“Isabela! What’s going on? Was that Hawke?”

“Yes. Walk with me, Guard Captain,” Isabela said has she grasped Aveline’s elbow and followed Fenris. “The Templars had Hawke. Now we have her. We’re taking her home. “

“Where are they?”

“I’m not going to tell you, Guard Captain. What you don’t know won’t get you into trouble. Just know they are taken care of.”

“Varric,” she growled.

“Aveline, she’s right,” Donnic spoke from her other side. “Let Varric handle this. If we don’t know where the bodies are, we can honestly tell the Knight Captain that we have no idea what became of her knights.”

Aveline sighed and rubbed her forehead with a gloved hand. “Right. I don’t even want to know who it was.” She looked at Fenris carrying her oldest friend and whispered, “Is she going to be all right?”

“Maker only knows, Aveline. But if you’re the praying sort, now would be a good time to get in a few good words,” Isabela whispered.


	4. Chapter Four

Fenris paced the floor of Andrea’s bedroom. 

He didn’t really recall the trip back to this room. He vaguely remembered carrying Andrea’s still and bloody form. Remembered hearing Bodhan’s cry of alarm when he and Isabela, Aveline and Donnic emerged from the cellar. Orana had nearly fainted. Aibhne, Andrea’s black Mabari bitch, had howled when she’d seen them. That sound he recalled quiet clearly. It had echoed in his chest and seemed altogether fitting, as if she was giving voice to his thoughts and fears.

Somehow, he had made it to this room. Orana and Isabela had washed away the worst of the blood and dirt and other…things…covering Andrea while Fenris had paced, casting furtive glances at the bed. His mind shied away from what he was seeing. Despite the fact that there was no one threatening Andrea, he couldn’t completely calm himself. He still heard her screams, echoing in his mind. The sound wouldn’t stop reverberating. 

So, he paced. 

More accurately, he stalked. Like a caged beast, he swept back and forth across the room. Whenever he ventured too close to the bed and caught sight of Andrea, he veered away. When Isabela and Orana finally drew the covers over her battered body, only then did he stop. 

Crossing the room in three quick strides, he reached out for Andrea but stopped short when he saw his hands. He still wore his gauntlets and they were covered in blood. Grimacing, he stripped them off his hands and tossed them aside. Orana held out a wet towel and he took it with a small nod, cleaning his hands of the remaining gore. As he did, he had a sudden vision of thrusting his hand into the chest of a templar, grabbing a hold of his heart and yanking. Shaking his head to clear the memory, he set the towel aside and knelt by the bed. He brushed the damp honey blonde curls away from Andrea’s eyes and took a deep breath. She would survive this. Just as she had everything else. She must.

Behind him, the door opened and Anders entered the room. Fenris leapt to his feet and Isabela’s hands dropped to her daggers. She moved to place herself between the Mage and Hawke until she was certain Justice was nowhere to be seen. They stood, the three of them, staring at each other until Isabela straightened and stepped aside. Fenris watched, unmoving, as Anders crossed the room and set a bag on the floor. The sound of tinkling glass vials rung in the still room.

Fenris continued to glare at the mage and they faced each other for several more moments before Anders closed his eyes and sighed.

“I’m sorry, Fenris. I would never hurt Dre. Let me finish what needs to be done. I can take care of her physical wounds.”

Fenris leaned towards Anders, his brands flaring slightly. “You had better, Mage. For if she dies this night, you will join her.”

“Fair enough. Now let me pass.”

Fenris growled, but stepped aside. He winced as Anders pulled back the covers to expose Andrea’s body. After folding the blankets neatly at the foot of the bed, Anders placed one hand on her hip and the other on her shoulder and started to push Dre to her side. Fenris’ hand closed around Anders wrist at her hip, stopping him.

“What are you doing?”

“I need her on her stomach.”

Fenris removed his hand and crossed to the other side of the bed to help. Andrea moaned softly as they moved her but remained otherwise unconscious. Once they had her comfortable, Anders straightened up and looked at Fenris.

“Are you sure you want to see this?”

“I’m not leaving you alone with her.”

“How much do you remember of what was going on?”

Fenris frowned. “Nothing clearly.”

Anders sighed and looked down at Hawke. Fenris followed his gaze and forced himself to really look, for the first time. Anders first healing trance had stopped the major bleeding but not done much else. From her nape to her ankles, the cuts from the caning rod, evenly spaced, still bled sluggishly. All were deep enough to lay open the skin, a few revealed the muscle beneath. One in particular across her shoulder blades was to the bone. As bad as these were, they were not what threatened her life. 

Even now, blood seeped out between Andrea’s legs and gathered in a small pool underneath. The blood on her arse was far more than the welts that covered it could account. These were injuries that Fenris had seen before and he suddenly knew why Anders wondered if he should stay.

His markings flared brightly to life and Anders flinched but held his ground.

“Remember that you killed them, Fenris. They can’t hurt her or anyone else again,” Isabela’s voice seemed to drift across the room. Both men had forgotten the pirate. She stepped up next to Fenris and leaned into his space. “She needs you now. Hold it together, big boy.”

Fenris growled but calmed himself. He nodded and Isabela stepped back. Crossing to the corner where Orana cowered, she took the elf by the hand and quietly left the room.

“Do what you must, mage.”  
~  
Isabela helped the shaken Orana downstairs. The elf clung to her arm as they carefully traversed the stairs. Spying Bodhan heading into the sitting room, a tray in one hand, Isabela followed, pulling Orana with her. Aveline stood by the fireplace, leaning on one hand against the mantle. Donnic sat stiffly in a chair nearby, watching his wife. Varric stood in one corner, Cormac and Durstan next to him. 

Bodhan offered Isabela a glass of whiskey as she entered the room. She handed the glass to Orana and snagged the half empty bottle of the tray for herself. Grasping the elf by the elbow, she guided her to an open chair and urged her to sit. 

“Slow, small sips, sweetie. It will help.”

Orana looked blankly at Isabela, her eyes wide and frightened. The pirate took the hand holding the glass and gently guided it to Orana’s lips.

“Trust me.”

Orana blinked and took a slow sip. She coughed at the strong alcohol but resolutely took another one. Isabela turned away, took a large swallow from the bottle in her hand and joined Aveline by the fireside.

“How is she?”

“Anders is healing her. She’ll be fine. Physically.”

Aveline frowned. “Meaning?”

“He can heal her physical wounds, Aveline. Her other injuries are entirely up to her.” Isabela took another swallow and turned her back on the Guard Captain. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see what those bastards had done…were doing. Hawke’s physical hurts are the least of her worries.”

The companions were silent, each lost in their own thoughts.

Isabela sprawled across a chair, bottle of whiskey still clutched in her hands. She continued to drink, working her way bit by bit towards the bottom of the bottle. Her eyes focused on nothing in particular as she tried desperately to purge the images of that morning from her mind. 

Donnic left his chair and crossed the distance to his wife, drawing her into his arms. He held her closely, giving her a moment before he steered her to a nearby divan. He was concerned for Aveline. Her usual fierceness seemed to have deserted her completely. 

Varric shook his head, trying to dispel the image of Hawke’s violation. They had made it time to prevent Hawke being made Tranquil, but still it had taken far too long to reach her. Everyone had a breaking point. How long could the Maker keep dumping on her before He decided she’d had enough? The litany of losses in the years he’d known her were enough to break a normal person. But then, he reminded himself, his Hawke was far from normal. She was perhaps the most exceptional person he had ever known. He just prayed that she would survive this and come out stronger, just as she had every other time.

Bodhan glanced around the room, unsure where to go next but after a moment decided that Isabela was well on her way to finishing her bottle of whiskey and would soon be in need of more. He headed out of the room to find more refreshment, both liquid and more substantial, to keep up the strength of those sitting vigil.

When he opened the door, Aibhne slipped in. She looked around the room and settled on Orana. Padding silently, she crossed the room to sit next to the elf, placing her large head in the tiny lap. She stared up at Orana, big brown eyes full of concern. It had the desired effect. Orana smiled and began to scratch the Mabari behind her ears. The dog sighed and closed her eyes. 

The silence was nearly complete. Only Durstan, who had seen the macabre scene in that room but been unable to do a single thing, wept. Cormac slipped an arm around his friend’s shoulders and squeezed softly. Varric stirred at the sight of his two informants and came to a decision. These two deserved some sort of reward. The best thing he could do for them was get them out of Darktown. He thought he could convince Fenris that the two should enter Hawke’s employ. If he knew the elf, and he supposed that he knew him almost as well as Hawke, then Fenris was going to be stuck to Hawke’s side like glue for the foreseeable future. But even he would need help guarding the Champion. Who better than the two responsible for alerting them to her predicament?

He gathered the two young men in his arms and smiled.

“So, boys, how would you like to work for the Champion?”

“Sorry?” mumbled Durstan.

“Let’s talk.” Varric steered them out of the sitting room and towards the library across the hall. He convinced them to sit down with an expedient shove towards a chair for each of them. Once they were sitting, he smiled and leaned against the bookcase.

“Hawke doesn’t have any guards. Just Bodhan, Orana and Sandal. Not exactly the trio to protect her from the more unsavory sort. Oh, they do just fine fending off the noble fops that come around on a regular basis trying to woo her. They keep the estate clean, keep her and her Mabari in clean clothes and kibble. But what she really needs is someone, or a pair of some ones, who can keep the real riff raff away. I think the two of you are just what she needs.”

“Serah, excuse me, but have you taken leave of your senses,” Cormac asked. “What are we supposed to do against armed intruders or Maker forbid more Templars?”

“Just what you did today. Give Fenris enough warning to get there.”

Durstan swallowed audibly. He was still shaken from this morning’s experience, but thought he understood where Varric was headed. He waved Cormac off when he started to argue.

“Hush a minute, Cormac. So, let me get this right. You’re thinking we should be eyes for Messere Hawke?”

“Exactly. But not in Darktown.”

“Leave Darktown?” asked Cormac. “And live where, exactly?”

“Here, of course, you dolt,” said Durstan.

“Got it in one, my boy.”

“Here? In Hightown?”

They were quiet for a moment, the idea of escaping the Undercity percolating slowly through their brains. To be warm and clean and well fed, it was more than either of them had previously expected. The coin they’d earned working for Varric had been enough to keep them alive, but hardly much else. 

“Will the Champion agree to it?” asked Cormac, hope shining in his eyes for the first time in years.

“She has a habit of helping people. I doubt it will be hard to convince her once she knows what you did.”

“And Fenris? What about him?” 

“You don’t need to be afraid of the elf, Durstan.”

“No, serah. You misunderstand. I’m not afraid of him. You saw him. He was…amazing. Never seen anything like it before. But he seems awful…protective of the Champion.”

“Let me worry about Broody.”

“Um, Master Tethras, you keep forgetting.”

“Oh? And what would that be Cormac?”

“We don’t have any fighting skills. Not enough, at least, to do the job right.”

“He’s right, serah. We’d not last two minutes against someone with a real weapon.”

“That, my boys, is the least of your worries. You see, I have a plan. One that gives you plenty of time to learn the basics.”

The two friends looked at each other and grinned. The dwarf’s “plans” were legendary. If you could believe the tales he told, at least.   
“All right, then, serah. Assuming you can convince Herself, it looks like we’ve got new jobs.”

“Smart boy.” Varric straightened up and gestured to the two to follow. “Let’s go talk to Bodhan. He can get you settled. This house has more empty rooms than the Hanged Man. He’ll have you set to rights in no time.”


	5. Chapter Five

After seeing the two newest members of the Hawke household taken care of, Varric returned to the sitting room. No one had moved. Isabela had a fresh bottle of whiskey in one hand, her empty on the floor next to her. Aveline glanced up when he entered. Her face fell when she realized he had no news. Orana and Aibne seemed almost asleep in their corner; until the Mabari opened her eyes to follow Varric as he crossed to the table where Bodhan had placed a platter of sandwiches and a pitcher of ale. 

Grabbing a sandwich and filling a mug, Varric cleared his throat. “We need to discuss what happens next.”

“Isn’t that up to Hawke?” asked Aveline.

“We can make suggestions. She will be in no shape to leave this house for at least a few days, but you and I both know the Champion can’t just hide in her house and have no one notice.”

“Any suggestions?”

“The Deep Roads. We can tell everyone she is planning another foray into the Deep Roads. She’s currently out scouting an entrance. As soon as she’s able to leave the house, she’ll need to make an appearance in the market, buying supplies for the trip. Then, she and Fenris and one or two others can leave for a month or so.”

“Hawke isn’t going to want to go to the Deep Roads again, Varric. Not after last time.”

“I know, Aveline. She doesn’t have to actually go underground. She just needs a reason to be out of the city for a while. She needs to be out of sight for at least a month to let the search for the missing Templar’s die down. Plus, this will give her time to heal.”

“It sounds like a good plan, Varric. If she listens,” Isabela said.

The sound of Fenris’ voice calling for Bodhan snapped all five pairs of eyes to the door. Aibhne bolted out of the room, a soft woof sounding before she was out the door. Orana leapt to her feet as well and might have followed the Mabari except for the sudden wave of dizziness that caused her to stumble. Isabela was at her side in an instant, guiding her back to her seat. Varric paused only long enough to drop his mug and sandwich on the table and followed the hound.

“Not so fast, sweetheart.”

“But I need to see what Master Fenris wants.”

“Bodhan can handle it, sweetie. Have you ever had whiskey before?”

“Umm…no,” Orana said slowly. “Is that why my head feels like its spinning?”

Isabela chuckled. “You’ll be fine. Just let me take this, “she said, relieving Orana from her mostly empty glass of whiskey. “Just rest for a bit.”

Orana nodded slowly and closed her eyes, not noticing the soft look that Isabela gave her before she left. 

In the entrance hall, Bodhan guided a clearly exhausted Anders downstairs to a back bedroom while Varric and Fenris spoke quietly at the top of the stairs. From her vantage point in the middle of the hall, Isabela saw Aveline and Donnic standing at the foot of the stairs; Cormac and Durstan nearby. The two eyes were staring at Varric, waiting for instructions. In fact, everyone in the house but Bodhan and Anders seemed keenly interested in the hushed conversation held at the top of the stairs. 

Fenris scowled and nodded once. He stepped around Varric and watched the mage and servant as they turned the corner. Once they were out of sight, he began his descent, keeping his eyes downcast and attempting to push past Aveline. She thrust out an arm and he reluctantly stopped, eyes still downcast.

“Fenris. How is she?”

“She lives.”

“Fenris.”

“She is sleeping. The Mage says it will be several hours before she wakes.” Fenris sighed and looked up. “Let me pass, Aveline. I need to go home.”

“Home? Isn’t that how this….”

“Aveline!” Donnic interrupted. “Don’t.”

Fenris frowned and leaned into Aveline’s space, glaring up at her through the fringe of his hair. “Don’t you think that I know that? If I had been here this morning…”

“Go get your things, Fenris. The sooner you go, the sooner you can return. I’ll stay with Hawke. Durstan, go with him.” Varric’s soft but resonant baritone drifted down from the balcony, disrupting the tense scene below.

Fenris pushed past Aveline and headed towards the front door. He glanced at the young human and motioned with his head for him to follow. As the door closed softly behind them, Isabela stepped up to the Guard Captain.

“Way to put your foot in it, lady man hands.”

“Watch it, whore,” Aveline muttered, more out of reflex than true bile. She covered her face in her hands and sighed. “I can be such an idiot.”

“Yes, well, you’re my idiot. Come on, love. We need to get back to the barracks.” Donnic pulled her hands from her face and gently tugged her towards the exit.

“Donnic.” The Guardsman looked up at Varric, who still stood at the top of the stairs. “Take the darktown exit. The fewer people who know you were here the better.”  
Donnic nodded and together he and Aveline left the estate.

“You, too, Rivaini. Better go warn Daisy what’s going on before she stumbles in here and blows our cover.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” she said, sketching a rough salute, before she, too, headed downstairs.

Varric turned back and crossed the short distance to Hawke’s bedroom. He opened the door and slipped in, closing it quietly behind him. Shaking his head, he made his way to the chair drawn up next to the bed and sat down. Peering at the sleeping form of his best friend, he wondered just what was going to happen when she woke up. If the Maker was kind, she would have no memory of her time in Alrik’s hands. But knowing Hawke’s luck, every second would be etched into her brain. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and sighed.

The Maker seemed to think Hawke’s life should be one long test – first Bethany, then Carver and Leandra, and now this. Still, she was the strongest person he’d ever met. She had refused to let the losses and injustices along the way defeat her. He had to hope that this event would be the same.

The silence was uncomfortable for Varric. Silence always was and he filled it the same way he always had – with the sound of his own voice.

“So, Hawke. You should have seen Broody. I mean, I’ve seen him in action before, many times, but this was different. He heard you and before anyone could stop him, he broke down the door and charged through it. All we could do was follow him. I don’t know how he knew where you were in that warren of rooms, but he never faltered. When that last door was opened and we found you…” Varric’s voice broke and he took a moment to compose himself.   
“Maker, Hawke, how I wish that bastard was here now so I could kill him again.” He shook his head to clear it and continued. “The elf roared that scream of his and thrust his hand into Alriks’s chest and threw him across the room. I don’t think he even saw the second one, but he took his head off with that bloody huge sword of his without even looking. He only had eyes for you. He pulled you free of that contraption almost before I got all the way into the room and had you in his arms. Rivani took care of the third one while he freed you. I don’t think he even registered the fact. It was a thing of beauty, Hawke really. It was something out of one my stories, well, without the awful bits that happened to you. Truly, Broody was a wonder. And Isabela wasn’t half bad, either. Then, Fenris held you in his arms and it was just about the most heart wrenching thing I’ve ever witnessed. I just wish I knew what he said to you. Something in that bloody awful Arcanum.”

“They are dead. You are safe. No one will hurt you again. I will not allow it. Return to me, my love, do not desert me.”

Hawke’s rough whisper startled Varric. He leaned forward and took her hand in his.

“Hey there. I thought you were asleep.”

“I was.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. And don’t tell Fenris I know Arcanum,” she smiled before drifting back to sleep.  
~  
Durstan followed Fenris and tried to understand the day’s events. It was barely past midday and he was starting to understand that his life was never going to be the same. And somehow, wherever his life now lead him, he felt sure it was going to be tied inexorably up with the elf in front of him. 

He’d seen the things that Fenris had done first hand. He’d heard the rumors, of course, but to see it up close and personal-like was something completely different. Strangely, he wasn’t afraid of the man. How could he be when he’d also seen what drove him to the act. He tried hard to think about something else besides the blood and what had caused it. He knew what the others, especially the pirate, were alluding to. He praised the Maker that by the time he had reached the room, he’d missed that bit. Still, seeing Alrik’s half-nude body go flying past him, off the elf’s hand that had been buried in his chest, was a sight he was never likely to forget. The head that came bouncing towards his feet soon after seemed almost commonplace by comparison. He’d watched the head as it tumbled across the room and when he looked up again, the elf, Fenris, was holding the Champion’s body. 

So much blood. More than he had ever seen in one place. It was so much that the dirt floor was churched up in a muddy mess by the time they left. 

And then the other. The Healer, the one they’d been supposed to be protecting all this time, came in and the voice. That voice was going to give him nightmares, he just knew. Then the pirate had stepped up and slapped the mage and just like that, he changed. He’d never had reason to be afraid of the Healer before. He’d even visited his clinic once or twice, but never again. Not now that he knew what was hiding inside of him.

Durstan shuddered at the memory and Fenris grimaced. Varric thought the best place for the two eyes was in Hawke’s employ, though he wondered how difficult it would be if Durstan was afraid of him. He had to admit that they needed some reward. If not for their quick actions, Hawke might be dead or worse, tranquil.

The mere thought of it enraged him. How could anyone think that his mage deserved that? He knew that it was hypocritical of him. After all the things he had said over the years about mages, it seemed duplicitous now to hate the Templars for what they had tried to do. Yet, he’d always thought of Andrea as the exception. Mages could not be trusted, but she could. Mages always sought power, except she never had. Mages were just one step away from abomination, but she could resist the lure. And everything that the Abomination had said or done seemed to prove his point. Until now.

He growled, remembering what Justice had said and how excited the spirit had seemed. Whatever Anders was, he knew he would never fully trust him. Fenris knew that the mage loved Andrea, as much as the spirit allowed. He knew that Anders hated him because Andrea chose him; had waited for him. Fenris still wasn’t sure why she had, but it no longer mattered. Those lost years were gone, but he swore that he would never leave her side again. He would give up the stupid prideful need to have his own space and move in as she had asked. If he had only done that, perhaps this would never have happened. He swore that nothing like this would ever happen to her again. He would protect her with his very life rather than see her suffer. 

He only prayed that she would let him. That she did not blame him for not being there to protect her. Aveline was right. If he had swallowed his stupid pride, he would have been there this morning. He could have stopped her from leaving alone and unprotected. But he hadn’t and now the woman he loved was paying the price for his pride. The thought burned him. It was one more thing that he had to make up to her, one more debt that could never be discharged. He was as much a slave to his love to her as he had ever been to Danarius. It was this that had truly kept him away for so long – that the depth of his feeling for her was a new kind of enslavement. He had struggled to be free for so long that he turned away from the very thought of having someone to whom his life was so entwined. It took him years to understand that what he was running from was the very thing that could save him, that would make him truly free. And now his inability to set aside those last vestiges of his pride had caused this.

It would be a debt he could never repay, but one that he would gladly spend a lifetime atoning.

When they reached the estate, Fenris led the youth inside. He looked around his old home and saw it with new eyes. He had never cleaned it up, in part because it suited him to let everyone think the place was derelict. It kept people away. Well, most of them. It hadn’t kept Andrea away or the others. The only one who had never stepped foot in his home was Anders. The times that Andrea had arrived with the Abomination in tow to pick up Fenris, she had always left him outside. 

Looking around at the broken crates, dust and a dried up corpse of a slaver, he wondered what Durstan thought. Shrugging, he realized it didn’t matter. After tonight, he would never step foot in the place again. He led the way upstairs to his bedroom and began gathering up his meager belongings – the book of Shartan that she had given him, his old greatsword and whetstone, a small bundle of clothes and the letters his sister, Varaina had sent him. He frowned at the packet of letters and almost left them behind. She had betrayed him and he would not forgive her, but the letters were the only connection he had to her. Reluctantly he stuffed them under his breastplate. 

“Serah?”

Fenris turned to look at Durstan, who was standing in the doorway. “Yes?”

“What can I do to help?”

Fenris motioned to the backpack resting next to the door. “Hand me that and then go downstairs and gather the other books.”

Durstan nodded and after handing him the backpack, left the room. Fenris stuffed the clothes, book and a few other small items into the bag before looking around the room one last time. Odd, that after living here so many years he could put everything he valued into a single bag. He pushed the bed aside and pulled up a loose board to reveal his stash. Inside were two bags, filled with the coin and gems that constituted his share of Andrea’s adventures over the years. He added them to the backpack and closed it. Shouldering the bag, he headed downstairs.

Durstan had gathered a small pile of books, maybe ten in all, from around the den. Once Fenris had learned to read, books were really the only things he spent his coin on, outside of necessities. It was one reason he had so much coin accumulated. Nothing he wanted to spend it on. 

“Let me check the wine cellar and we can leave.” 

Durstan nodded as Fenris headed to the basement. He thought he had one last bottle of decent wine left.


	6. Chapter Six

The trip back from his former home was quiet and uneventful. Durstan carried one stack of books, while Fenris managed the rest. After directing Durstan to the library and instructing Bodhan to make sure that he and Cormac bathed and were given fresh clothing, Fenris headed upstairs.

He found Varric reading aloud to Andrea from one of his novels. The dwarf looked up, nodded, and kept reading. Fenris closed the door softly behind him and crossed the room to join Varric at the bedside. He watched Hawke sleeping for a moment before looking around the room for somewhere to store his belongings. He noticed an armor stand where none had been before and small smile crossed his face.

Varric closed the book and watched Fenris. “Bodhan brought that up from storage. He also said to let you know that there should be room for your belongings in the armoire.”

Fenris nodded and swiftly unpacked his meager belongings. He hesitated for a moment and then began removing his armor as well.

“If I can ask you stay a bit longer, Varric, I should like to bathe.”

“Of course, Elf. I’ve got another chapter to go.”

“Has she...woken?”

“Just for a moment. She probably won’t even remember it.”

Fenris nodded. “Then I should be quick. I want to be here when she wakes.”

“Take your time.”

Fenris hung his armor on the stand, grabbed his change of clothes and left the bedroom. Down the hall was one of the perks to living in Hightown – a bath with its own boiler for hot water and a tub large enough for two. Fenris slipped inside the room and latched the door. The last thing he wanted was for Orana or Bodhan to take it upon themselves to “help”. 

The boiler was already fired and it took no time at all for the tub to fill with hot water. Fenris stripped off his dirty clothing and sunk gratefully into the water. He fully intended to be brief but the warmth pulled at him and he soon found himself stretched out and relaxing. He ducked his head under the water and rested for a moment on the bottom of the tub, not surfacing until the need for air forced him upwards. He pushed his wet hair out of his face and reached for the soap and cloth sitting nearby. 

With a sigh, he set to scrubbing himself clean. As he scoured away the grime he tried to remember the words of one of the Elven servants in Danarius’ household. She was always the one called on to tend to those slaves left bleeding and broken by the magister. 

_Some months past the ritual that gave him his markings, one of Fenris’ first nights as bodyguard to Danarius saw him standing guard outside his bedroom while the magister and several of his friends partook of one the elves from the slave harem. He listened while the girl screamed, sickened and furious at what was going on behind closed doors._

_Shoulders hunched, he tried to block out the sounds. He must have been at least partially successful for when the door opened at his back, he was startled._

_“Fenris. Take her to Danae, “ Danrius growled, indicating the body on his bed. Nodding once, Fenris crossed to the bedside. The air was heavy with opium smoke and he held his breath as he gathered his fellow slave in his arms. The nude woman was unconscious, which made his job easier in some ways. It would have been far worse if she were awake and still screaming._

_He left the room swiftly and silently, trying not to flinch at the laughter that followed his exit. Danae’s room was at the rear of the slave quarters and Fenris moved quickly downstairs, the still and bloody body in his arms driving him forward. Finally, he reached the room and pushed open a door with his foot._

_An old elven woman stood up from her rocking chair near the fireplace that shed the only light in the room. She stepped to his side and placed a hand on the woman he carried. Nodding briskly, she motioned to the narrow bed against the wall. Fenris deposited the woman and stepped back._

_“Fill this with hot water. There’s some in the kettle,” she said, handing him a bowl and indicating the fireplace with her head._

_After he brought the water back, the old woman began to speak._

_“What has he done to you, my dear?” she mumbled as she dipped a rag in the water and started cleaning. “Where you there, boy?”_

_“No.”_

_The old woman looked up at him, frowning. “But you heard.”_

_“Yes. The Master was...entertaining.”_

_“How many?”_

_“Three others.”_

_“Bastards.” The old woman sighed._

_“Will she survive?”_

_“Perhaps. Some people can. Others cannot.” She looked down at the still, slight figure in her bed. “This one, I don’t think so. Her body may heal, but her mind will likely be shattered. She was always…easily disturbed. No doubt why he chose her tonight.”_

_As the old woman continued to tend to the injured elf, she shared what she had learned over the years in her position as nurse to Danarius’ toys._

_“Afterwards, those that survive their physical hurts, they have to handle the injuries to their minds. How they respond varies. Some never recover. Some grow hard and angry. Some manage to find their way through. Depends on what happened to them as well. Did Danarius feel the need to hurt them before he took them? Did he have helpers? Are they someone the Master finds particularly appealing and so enjoys their company frequently?_

_“The best thing I can do is listen to them. Let them know that the nightmares and fear are normal. That it’s natural to be angry. That they aren’t to blame._

_“One thing I can’t do is tell them they’re safe. As long as they’re living under Danarius’ roof, they will never be safe.”_

Fenris stepped out of the tub and reached for a towel; thinking about the things the old woman had said so many years ago. Remembering the slaves Danarius had used to satisfy his urges and how they reacted. 

He tugged on his breeches as he wondered what to expect when Andrea awoke. It was folly of the worst sort to use the experiences of Danarius’ slave harem to predict how she would react. Yet he suspected that some things were universal.

As he slipped his tunic over his head he remembered something else the old woman had told him.

_“Don’t blame yourself, either, boy. It won’t change what happened and it won’t help. There’s only one person to blame and it isn’t either of you.”_

Those words seemed particularly cold and flat right now.  
~  
If he was completely honest with himself - and here in the silence of her bedroom waiting for her to wake it seemed only appropriate – he was terrified. This wasn’t the mind-numbing terror he’d experienced racing through Darktown. This was something far colder that twisted in his gut and caused him to set aside the stew that Orana brought with a sudden lurch. He fought down the urge to race down to Andrea’s wine cellar and drink himself into a stupor.

No, she needed him sober and alert. Even if that meant he had to sit and wait and in waiting wonder how Andrea would react. So, he watched her as she slept. After Varric had left and the room grew quiet, he began to hear small sounds – whimpers and groans. Each one made his heart ache. Part of him wanted to climb into bed with her and take her in his arms. The rational part of him knew that might not be the best idea. 

He took one of her small hands in his own and brought it to his lips while his other hand smoothed the curls from her face. The small sigh that escaped her gave him hope. Leaning forward so that his elbows rested on the bed, he held Andrea’s hand gently in his own.

“Mortui sunt. Te securum. Nemo te malum. Non passurum. Revertere ad me, amica mea, ne deseret me,” he whispered as he kissed her temple.

“Fenris?”

Andrea’s eyes fluttered open and she reached up to brush aside the bangs that hid a pair of green eyes from view. She smiled as Fenris closed his eyes and rested his forehead on hers.

“Andrea,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

“Shh. It’s okay.”

Fenris pulled away, shaking his head. He took a long shuddering breath and squeezed her hand. 

“Are you thirsty?”

“Um hmm, “ Andrea nodded. 

Fenris tried to let go of her hand in order to pour a drink, but Andrea’s grip tightened and he paused. With his left hand trapped, he would have to stretch awkwardly across himself to reach the ewer on the bedside table. Glancing down at his trapped hand and then to Andrea, he sighed.

“This would be easier if you let go.”

Andrea tried to hide the sudden bolt of fear at his words. She smiled weakly and relaxed her grasp, but Fenris had noticed and brought her hand to his lips before transferring it to his right. With his left hand free he filled a cup and held it out for her.

Andrea struggled to sit up, pushing herself upright with her free hand before reaching for the glass. Her free hand shook as it wrapped around Fenris’. Together, they managed to get the glass to its intended destination and after several swallows Andrea let go of the cup and fell back.

Frowning, Fenris placed the cup back on the table and turned back to Andrea. Her eyes were closed but she squeezed his fingers when she felt him shift.

“I’m tired.”

“Are you in pain? The Mage left something. I can get it for you.”

Fenris started to stand, but Andrea refused to let go of his hand. “Don’t go. I’m fine.”

As Fenris returned to his seat, Andrea pressed her free hand to her eyes and frowned. Truth be told, she was more tired than anything. One of Anders pain draughts would knock her out and the very idea of returning to the Fade was enough to send a flash of adrenaline through her. She could feel her heart race and breath catch. Opening her eyes, she looked over at Fenris. 

He was watching her, a carefully neutral expression on his face. The fear that clutched at her was nearly overwhelming. She had to do something or risk falling apart.

“Fenris, can you help me up?”

“Are you sure? Wouldn’t it better if you rested?”

“Nature calls,” she said, shrugging a shoulder.

“Shall I call Orana?”

“No!” The harshness of her reply startled them both. Smiling, Andrea shook her hand. “No, don’t bother her. You can help me. Unless you’d rather not?”

Suddenly bashful, Andrea looked away only to be surprised when Fenris stood and tossed aside the duvet. Lifting her legs, he swung them over the side and pulled her to her feet so suddenly that she staggered and found herself against his body before she could do more than squawk in protest.

Fenris’ free arm snaked around her waist and held her steady. Their entwined hands were trapped between their chests and Fenris twisted deftly out of her grasp only to cover her hand with his and press it against his heart. Andrea looked up as she reached out with her hand to grasp Fenris’s shoulder.

“I am here. For as long as you want.”

Andrea groaned and tucked her head into Fenris’ neck. “How does forever sound?”

“I am yours.”


	7. Chapter 7

An exhausted Hawke leaned heavily on Fenris as they made their way slowly across the room and back towards her bed. She considered it an accomplishment of sorts that she had made it to the bathroom, relieved herself and washed up without falling flat on her face. Truth be told, it was only because Fenris kept an arm around of her waist most of the way. 

She paused to catch her breath and looked around the room. The armor stand caught her eye. _That hadn’t been here this morning._

“I didn’t know we even had one of those,” she said, lifting her chin in the direction of the stand.

“Varric said Bodhan found it in the cellar.”

Hawke just looked at the armor stand and smiled. Glancing around the room, she looked for other signs. Fenris’ greatsword leaned against the wall near the bedside table. On the table itself was his whetstone, red scarf and small Amell crest. Atop the small chest at the foot of the bed lay a new book. They were small things, but taken together they meant only one thing. She suspected that if she had the energy to check, she’d find the rest of Fenris’ meager clothing in the armoire.

“So, “she said has she continued her slow march towards the bed, “does this mean you’ll be here in the morning?”

Fenris glanced down, surprised at the question. Andrea always caught him off guard. She could notice the smallest of changes, gather the tiniest bits of information and come to a conclusion that was, more often than not, correct quicker than any one he’d ever known. She’d asked him several times after their reconciliation to move in with her. Now that he had, he was uncertain how she would react. Gathering his courage, he offered her the truth,

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Fenris’ mouth quirked in a small smile and he took Andrea’s hand on his shoulder in his own and gave it a small squeeze. She leaned her head against his in reply.

The interminable length of the room traversed, Hawke gratefully dropped onto the bed with a loud sigh. She dropped her head to her chest and took several deep breaths while holding tightly onto the edge of the mattress. Fenris watched her, a frown on his face, as he knelt in front of her, his legs to either side of her knees.

Hawke smiled when she felt the warm weight of Fenris’ hands cover her own. It was a simple and reassuring gesture. No response expected, just an undemanding reminder of his presence. She loved his tenderness in moments like these. Just as he simply sat with her after her mother died, now he remained still and patient, offering his calm strength while she recovered her wind.

Looking up, she tried to peer under the ever-present bangs. The others would scoff if she tried to tell them about this Fenris – quiet, patient, loving. All they saw was the fierce warrior with a broody temperament and sharp tongue. She’d gotten the receiving end of that biting tongue herself, from time to time, but she managed see it for what is was; a mask worn to protect him from a world he barely understood and felt he had no place within. 

She caught his eyes and he graced her with the tiniest lift of his mouth, that small smile she loved so to see. Taking a deep breath, she turned her hands under his and laced their fingers together.

“Thank you.”

“What have I done to deserve your thanks?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Helping me just now. Being here. Saving my life. Little things,” she said, shrugging one shoulder.

Fenris closed his eyes and hung his head. “I was…too slow. I should have….”

“No, Fenris,” she interrupted. “Don’t blame yourself. I’m alive and my mind intact because of you. If anyone is to blame here, it’s me.”

Fenris’ head snapped up and he glared at Andrea. His markings glowed softly for just a moment. “No! Do not blame yourself,” he said harshly. He took a shuddering breath and reached out to take Andrea’s face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. “A wise woman once told me that I cannot blame myself for someone else’s actions, no matter how tempting it might be. We are neither of us at fault for...what happened,” he said gently. “There is only one person to blame and he has gone to meet the Maker’s judgment.”

He leaned in and rested his forehead against hers. “We will get through this, Andrea.”

Tears rolled down Hawke’s face as she lifted her head and buried her hands in Fenris’ hair. Face to face, noses bumping together, Hawke looked into his eyes before she closed the space and kissed him, quick and hard. Leaning back and letting her hands fall, she pulled away from Fenris’ hold. 

She looked away, eyes unfocused and head turned up. Tears continued to stream down her face. Her mind raced with conflicting emotions. Coherent thought seemed out of reach as images from her ordeal flashed through her head. The memory of it was overwhelming. She shook her head, trying to chase away the sight.

His heart breaking, Fenris watched the woman he loved fall apart. He wanted desperately to reach out and take her in his arms but he was afraid. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her. When she began to shake, he threw off his indecision and enfolded her in his arms. She flinched, stiffening in his arms.

“Andrea, I am here. You are safe.”

At the sound of his deep voice rumbling in her ear, Andrea crumpled in his arms and began to sob in earnest. Fenris shifted and climbed onto the bed next to her, guiding her to lie down next to him. Pulling her securely into his arms, he cradled her in his embrace while her weeping continued unabated.

He held her for what seemed like hours as she wailed against his chest. His own tears fell unnoticed as he stroked her back, offering what comfort he could even though her tears tore at his heart. When she pounded her fist against his shoulder and screamed, he let her, whispering to her in Arcanum. 

“Non pudeat sit flere. Lacrimae, non infirmitate. Tu es ille fortissimus i novi.”

Through it all it he held her, unflinching, until at last exhaustion took its toll and her tears subsided. She grew still and Fenris thought that perhaps she had cried herself to sleep. He stroked her head, tucking her curls behind one ear as he kissed the top of her head.

“You’re wrong.”

“About a great many things, I am sure, but what now?”

“I’m not strong. Far from it.”

“You are. You are the strongest person I know,” he said gripping her tightly. “You have survived so much. You will survive this as well.”  
“I’m afraid. All I can see when I close my eyes is his face. All I can hear is his voice, the voices of the others. Hear the sound of the c..cane whistling,” she whispered, flinching as if struck. “Even with my eyes open, I can…feel…them.…”

“You are safe, Andrea. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

Hawke shook her head, wiping at her eyes. 

“I’m afraid to go to sleep. They’ll be there, in the Fade. Waiting. And they won’t be alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non pudeat sit flere. Lacrimae, non infirmitate.. Tu es ille fortissimus i novi = Do not be ashamed to cry. Tears are not weakness. You are the strongest person I know.
> 
> I’m using Google translate to find the Latin. I know it sucks in English to Latin translating but it's the best I can do. Unless someone wants to volunteer...


	8. Chapter Eight

_Her arms were stretched above her head; her toes just brushing the dirt floor. She was back. Back there. In her ear, the voices whispered, insistent and maddening, just as they had when the room had been real._ **Burn them. Make them squeal. Hurt them as they hurt you.**

_It didn’t help that she knew this was the Fade. The panic at being trapped, naked and vulnerable was just as potent in her nightmare as it had been in reality. Worse in some ways, because she knew what was to come. Between the blink of her eyes, Alrik appeared. His body bore the scars of his death, but his face was just as angry and viscous as before._

_She flinched when he ran his cold hands down her body and the voices ratcheted up their litany._ **Burn him. Make him pay. Make them all pay.**

_“No!” Andrea screamed. “I deny you now as I denied you then. You will not use me. I will not relent. I am in control of my mind.”  
The voices retreated, Alrik disappeared and Andrea found herself standing in the room fully dressed. She started towards the door, wrenching it open only to find Fenris on the other side. She skittered to a halt, peering closely at the elf in front of her. _

_“Andrea, my love. Come to me,” he said, holding out his hands to her. “Together we will avenge your violation upon the entire Templar order. I was wrong, so wrong. I saw only the evil of the magisters. Saw the Templars as a necessary evil to control the corruption I thought inherent in all mages. Now I see. Evil resides in the heart of man, be he mage or mundane. Power is what corrupts men’s minds. The Order is as corrupted by their power as any magister.”_

_Andrea listened, hearing the words she had so often spoken to Fenris twisted and echoed back to her. Some small part of her desperately wanted this to be real, needed this to be real. Yet as she stared at the form of the man she loved, she knew this was yet another trick, another demon._

_“Leave me, demon. I see you for what you are. Here to tempt me with visions of love and vengeance.”_

_“Not merely vengeance, Andrea. Justice. You have but to take my hand and we will sweep through the Templar Order and slay those who would abuse their power.”_

_“You haven’t been paying very close attention, demon. Anders and Justice could not convince me that all Templars were evil. You, in that pathetic disguise, are no more capable of tempting me to violence than he was.”_

_Fenris’ form shimmered and in his place stood a Desire demon. She cackled and rose, floating above the ground._

_“You are foolish, mortal,” her voice, echoing strangely, grated across Andrea’s bones. “I offer you the power to defend yourself from those who would violate you; the power to avenge their cruel deeds. Why would you deny yourself retribution?”_

_“Evil done in the name of Good is still Evil. Destroying the Templar Order would only make me as bad as Alrik. I deny you now as I denied you then. Begone.”_

_“You cannot dismiss me with a mere wave of your hand, mortal. If you will not let me in, I will take what I want.”_

_The demon rose higher in the air and began to summon her minions. With a sweeping gesture, ice flew from Andrea’s fingertips, freezing the creature, followed by a stone projectile. The demon was damaged but intact. Andrea cursed and gathering up energies from the Fade, poured a blast of flame from her hands._

_The demon screamed and turned her full attention towards her foe. Andrea screamed in turn as a wave of intense pain bore down on her. She could almost see her life force being drained to strengthen the demon and desperately lashed out, trying to stun the demon.  
The horned demon staggered back and the sudden absence of pain sent Andrea reeling as well. They continued this way, back and forth; blasting magics powered by the raw energy of the Fade. The demon summoned minions to harry Andrea as she grew weaker, but Hawke dealt with them without hesitation, continuing to press the demon. No sooner had Andrea bemoaned the absence of her staff than it appeared in her hands. Trembling and on the verge of collapse, she berated herself for having forgotten to summon her staff until it was almost too late. Finally, with her staff to aid her focus and calling forth lightening, Hawke killed the demon._

_Exhausted, she stumbled backwards. The room was gone and she was left in the formless wilderness of the Fade. Falling to her knees, Andrea covered her face in her hands._

_Andrea remembered the words she’d heard from the shade of her father in Corphyeus’ prison:_ **My magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base.**

_“I’m trying, Papa. It’s so hard,” Andrea cried. “I know you did only what you were forced to do, but part of me wishes you had refused. Better I had never lived.”_  
~  
Fenris awoke to Andrea’s thrashing in his arms. Her head tossed back and forth against his chest and she mumbled incoherently. He stroked her hair, pushing the curls out of her face, speaking softly to her in Arcanum.

Instead of calming, she grew more agitated. Her breaths came quick and harsh. Her hands, previously trapped between their bodies, slipped up to cover her face as her shoulders began to shake in silent sobs. Alarmed, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her once, hard enough to bounce her head off his chest.

“Andrea! Wake up!”

“It’s so hard. Why won’t they leave me alone?” Andrea mumbled, so quiet and muffled that if Fenris had been any further away, he would not have been able to hear.

“Hawke! You will wake up now!” Fenris all but roared in her ear.

Andrea jumped in his arms and screamed. Placing both hands on his chest, she pushed back. Fenris followed her frenetic movements, sitting up with her as she scuttled away from him, ending up on her knees at the foot of the bed.

“Andrea, are you all right?” Fenris held his hands out to her, in an unknowing mimicry of the demon from her dream.

She leaned back and pointed one hand at him, energy dancing on her fingertips. Glancing hysterically around herself, she whimpered.  
“Are you another demon set to tempt me?”

Fenris dropped his hands and grew very still. Andrea’s eyes were wide, her face flushed and her entire body quivered. 

“I am no demon. I assure you. You are safe. Te securum, magellum. Be still.”

Andrea collapsed, face buried in the bedcovers and sobbed. 

“Te securum. Revertere ad me, amica mea,” Fenris whispered as he gathered Andrea into his arms. 

“Not safe. Never safe again,” Andrea wept. “They hound me. Awake or asleep. Whispering, always whispering,” She lifted her head and stared at Fenris with wild eyes. “Kill me. You promised me that if I became one of them, you would stop me. Do it now. Before it’s too late.”

Fenris froze, his heart beating in his chest like some wild bird desperate to escape. Words spoken when he believed all mages a threat, abominations just waiting to happen. Spoken long before he knew her; knew that she was strong, different. 

Before he loved her.

He closed his eyes and pulled her head down to his shoulder. “I cannot. Do not ask it of me.”

Andrea shivered and her tears soaked his shirt. “They returned me to that place. I was back there. He was there. Dead and cold but still threatening. Burn him. Make him pay. Make them all pay.” Her voice growling and hoarse as she mimicked the demons raised gooseflesh on Fenris’ arms. “Whispering of fire and pain and vengeance. But I didn’t listen and they left. Thought I was free, done. Opened the door and...and saw…”

Andrea stopped, shaking her head in denial against his shoulder. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him tightly. As if he was the only thing keeping her anchored. 

Fenris stroked her head and rested his cheek against her hair. He waited for her continue, unsure if he wanted to hear any more but knowing he had to listen.

“I saw you. Standing beyond the doorway. Tempting me. Promising me to slay all my foes and punish them all. It was hard. Harder than anything I may have ever done to deny that demon wearing your face.” 

Andrea sighed, the terror of her nightmare finally starting to relinquish its hold on her. She released her death grip on his waist and sat up, slowly. Slipping from his arms, she stood on shaky legs and smiled. Reaching out one hand, she cupped his cheek. His hand ghosted up and covered hers, pressing gently, her favorite small smile on his lips. As she stepped away, he clung to her hand as it slipped through his fingertips.

He watched her as she crossed the room to the fireplace. The fire had burned down low during the night and Andrea tossed a fresh log onto the embers. She stared at the sparks that flew up the chimney and sighed. She was quiet for a long time, staring into the flickering flames. He climbed off their bed and crossed the room on silent feet, stopping an arms length from her. Waiting, his heart still beating wildly in his chest, as he looked at her, so small and broken in the firelight. 

“Had to fight her. At least she didn’t make me fight you, “ she said as she turned back to face him. Wrapping her arms around herself, she chuckled. “If they ever figure that out, I’m toast.”

Fenris shook his head and closed the space between them. Taking her in his arms, he kissed her cheek and then buried his face in her hair. He breathed deeply, taking in her scent and sighed.

“If I could, I would accompany you into the Fade and fight at your side.” He lifted his head and catching Andrea’s chin in his hand, met her eyes. “Nothing is ever easy, but I will always be here for you. Together, we get through this.”

“I want to believe that. I do. But I’m frightened,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

A single tear rolled down her cheek and Fenris wiped it away with his thumb. His hand slipped into her hair and cupped her head in his hand. Slowly, he closed the space between them and kissed her gently on the mouth. His lips lingered just a moment before he pulled back.

“True courage is not the absence of fear. It’s facing your fear. Sometimes the greatest courage is found simply in living.”


	9. Chapter Nine

Fenris and Hawke stood together in front of the slowly dying fire wrapped in each other arms, for what seemed like hours. Fenris gently rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet while he buried one hand in her hair, his other arm around her waist. Hawke clung tightly to him, her hands fisted in the cloth of tunic and her head buried in the crook of his neck. 

“I am here, Andrea. Te secrum.”

She knew what the words meant, _you are safe_ , but the fear that raged inside her couldn’t listen. She wanted to believe that she was safe, wanted to believe that he would keep her that way, but just yesterday she had felt nigh invincible. Today, she felt herself slipping towards madness. Just when she thought the fear was growing silent, it would suddenly roar back to life. A flash of light and she was back in that room. The sound of the log in the fireplace breaking apart reminded her of footsteps at her back and she was in the street facing down Templars with no staff, no Fenris, no magic. It was late and the house nearly silent, except for the familiar sounds it made in the small hours of the morning. The sounds all houses made that any other day she hardly heard. Today, those noises made her cringe.

Fenris’ arms around her and the gentle rocking motion, however, began to calm her. Gripping his shirt and breathing in his scent helped her focus. His arms around her waist and the tender hand at the back of her head spoke of love and caring, The low rumble of his voice against her ear drowned out the other sounds until finally she relaxed.

Fenris felt the death grip at his back loosen and let loose a shaky breath. He pulled back his head and pressed a soft kiss on Andrea’s forehead.

“You need to rest. Perhaps, we should return to bed.”

Andrea shook her head. “No. I’m not sleepy.”

“Still, you need to rest. The…Abomination…said you would need rest. He left something for you to take.”

Andrea noticed the tensing in Fenris’ entire body when he spat his pet name for Anders. There was no love lost between the two men but she could have sworn she’d seen the slightest flash of blue race across Fenris’ markings. She frowned, wondering just what had caused this most recent increase in ire.

“I don’t want to sleep.”

“Then at least take the elfroot. You lost a good deal of blood. You may be weak for a few days.”

“Fine,” she shuddered, mind skittering away from the reason behind the blood loss.

Fenris let go and started to step away only to find Andrea’s hands still holding onto him. He ran his hands softly up and down her arms, slowly dislodging her hold, before sliding them down to grip her hands. Walking backwards and never taking his eyes from hers, he guided them both to the bedside table. He let go of one hand and gathered up a draught and held it out to her.

“I believe there may be a lyrium potion left as well, if you need it.”

Andrea scrunched her nose up in disgust as she pried the cap off the elfroot potion Fenris held for her. Tossing the cap aside, she pulled the flask from his hand and tossed off its contents in one quick swallow.

“As nasty as these things are, lyrium is ten times worse. I’ll be fine.”

“Perhaps something to eat?”

“If we can do so without waking Bodhan or Orana,” she said, glancing at the window. “It’s late. Or maybe early. At any rate, it’s no time for either of them to be about.”

“I think we can manage. If you insist on staying awake, there are things we need to discuss.”

Andrea frowned. “Things?”

Pulling her by the hand, he guided her towards the door. “You need to know what to expect when the others awaken.”

“All right. Though sneaking downstairs to eat cold leftovers is all about avoiding these others, you know.”

“I know.”

Fenris opened the door to find Andrea’s mabari hound blocking his path. The large black dog picked her head up and looked at both of them, her stubby tail wagging frantically. He could tell the moment the dog caught sight of Andrea. She jumped to her feet and her whole body vibrated, her tongue lolling out of her mouth.

“Hey, girl.” Andrea placed a hand on the giant hound’s head and gently stroked her soft ears. The dog leaned into her caress and whined softly. Dropping to her knees, Andrea wrapped her arms around the dog’s massive neck and buried her face in her fur. 

Fenris watched as the dog and her mistress got reacquainted. Aibhne lifted her head from Andrea’s shoulder and looked at him. Once again, he was struck by how well this animal could communicate without speech. Her worry and concern for Andrea’s well-being was obvious. He laid a hand on her head and nodded before bent to grasp Andrea’s elbow.

“Come.”

Wiping her eyes, Andrea nodded and stood. She kept one hand on Aibhne’s head as they negotiated the stairs and darkened house to the kitchen. Fenris guided her to a stool and left her side to rummage through the cold storage. Sitting next to her, Aibhne laid her head on Andrea’s knee and watched her mistress. For her part, Andrea was content to rub the dog’s ears and watch Fenris in his moment of domesticity. A wheel of cheese, a leg of ham and a loaf of bread made it to the table. Aibhne’s nose perked up at the scent of cheese and she shifted her eyes to Fenris as he sliced cheese, ham and bread. Without looking, he tossed her a sliver of cheese, which disappeared with a soft snap. Next a trimmed piece of fat flew through the air and vanished just as quickly. After each tidbit, Aibhne returned her head to Andrea’s knee. If not for the momentary loss of the dog’s heat, she could have easily believed nothing had happened.

“You’re spoiling my dog.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” he said, as another sliver of cheese arced through the air. A small smile turned up his lips, however. That same smile that still caused butterflies to take up residence in her stomach. 

She took the proffered sandwich and together they ate in silence. When it was obvious that no further treats where headed her way, Aibhne turned her attention to Andrea. The dog sighed and looked up at her, big brown eyes gazing lovingly, and longingly, in the direction of Andrea’s hands.

“Mine,” Andrea said, tapping the dog on the nose.

Fenris finished first and took the opportunity to clean the evidence of their nocturnal visit. Andrea watched him, nibbling on her meal, as he worked. The softest of whines escaped Aibhne as she continued to follow the movement of the sandwich with each bite. Andrea ignored the dog, choosing to follow Fenris’ every movement. With food put away and the table wiped clean, he pulled down two glasses from the cupboard and filled them with water. He set a glass in front of Andrea and she smiled as she gathered it up and took a sip.  
Andrea opened her palm holding the last bite of her sandwich and held it down for the dog. A warm tongue scooped the morsel up and then proceeded to clean her fingers. Shaking her hand, Andrea wiped it across Aibhne’s head before a soft sigh escaped her.

“It was enough?”

Andrea smiled, “Perfect. So, what is it you wanted to tell me?

Fenris settled onto the stool next to Andrea and faced her, one knee just touching her empty one. He looked down, the fringe of his white hair hiding his eyes. He rested one hand on Aibhne’s head while he gathered his thoughts.

“You are aware that Varric has eyes all over the city.”

“Yes. He has quite the little information network.”

“It is a good thing.” He looked up and caught Andrea’s eyes. “A very good thing that he does.” 

Andrea swallowed as her throat tightened and she found herself clutching the glass of water tightly in her hand. Fenris reached over and silently pulled it from her grip before it shattered. He set it on the table and took her hand, cold and damp, in his.

“Without them, we might never have found you.”

Andrea closed her eyes and nodded. Aibhne whined and lifted her head before dropping it back down on Andrea’s knee. Absently, Andrea let her free hand drift to the dog’s head. Her hand slid down and gripped the loose flesh at the back of her neck and gently massaged. 

“Their names are Cormac and Durstan. They’re asleep in the servant’s quarters. Varric has promised them employment. With you.”

Andrea’s eyes popped open. “He what?”

“He believes that they deserve some reward. Something more than a few coins. I agreed.”

“Well…I can understand that…but what I am supposed to _do_ with them?”

“That is up to you.”

“Surely the wise and sneaky Varric has some _plan._ ”

“They were eyes for Varric. Now they are eyes for you.”

“You do realize this means we are going to be outnumbered. I hardly think the two of us. Well, the three of us,” she amended, looking at the Mabari. “We hardly need Bodahn and Orana. What will we do with two more mouths to feed?”

“They are Fereldan, if that helps.”

“Joy.”

“Someone of your stature…”

“Stop right there,” Andrea interrupted. “I didn’t ask to be named Champion.”

“But you are.”

"Bollocks."

“If you prefer, we can send them back to the Undercity with coin.”

Andrea sighed. “No, of course not. Cormac and Durstan you say?”

“That is correct.”

“Do they have any skills?”

“I do not know.”

Andrea closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Shaking her head, she sighed. “Is there anything else the great puppet master has planned?”

“Yes.”

“Thrilling. Do tell.”

“I think it can wait until the morning.”

“No time like the present.”

“It is a good plan. As far as Varric’s plans go. He believes it would best if you left Kirkwall for a time. Perhaps a month. Nothing permanent.”

“And what am I supposed to be doing for this month?”

“Another Deep Roads expedition.”

“What! Andraste’s knicker weasels, why would I do that?”

“It is a convenient excuse. Nothing more.”

Andrea clenched her eyes shut and took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself. Images of her cantankerous brother dying by her hand flooded through her mind. She’d sworn that she would never return to the blighted Deep Roads. How could Varric think this was a plan?

She struggled a few moments more, tears sliding down her cheeks. Fenris wiped them away with a thumb and rested his hand on her face. Her hand left Aibhne’s ruff and covered his as she took a deep breath.

“I will not go underground again, Fenris.”

“I understand. There is nothing to say you must. It gives us time, Andrea. Time for you to heal. Time for the hunt for certain missing people to die down. Time to train Cormac and Durstan.”

“I swear, I will kill that nug humping bastard one day.”

“He means well.”

Andrea chuckled, “Oh, that so doesn’t help. They _all_ mean well.” Andrea jumped off her stool and began to pace. “Oh, Hawke, can you find my missing son? Oh Hawke, I’ve lost some priceless heirloom, can you find it for me? Oh Hawke, there’s a dragon in our mine. And what do I do? I go looking for their people, their trinkets, their beasties and then _WHAM!_ I’m surrounded by blood mages or Carta or Coterie or just run-of-the-mill-I-have-a-death-wish-and-wouldn’t-it-be-great-if-we-took-out-the-all-powerful-Hawke-type bandits and I end up killing someone or lots of someones or somethings and then when I drag my tired ass back to Kirkwall with their people or their heirloom or the hide of the damn dragon, they pat me on the head and offer me a few coins for my trouble.”

Fenris watched her rant. This particular diatribe was one he’d heard before. Usually after they’d ventured out to the Wounded Coast and gotten sidetracked by bandits or Tal-Vashoth. He tried before to tell her there was simple solution – stop helping everyone with a sob story – but that had gotten his head nearly bitten off and a continuation of the ranting that lasted for another 15 minutes. Now, he just watched and waited. As unsettled as Andrea might be about the very idea of the Dark Roads, as angry as she seemed to be with Varric, she’d go along with this plan.

She had little real choice.


	10. Chapter Ten

She spun and images of a dirt floor and dank walls careened across her vision. That room. Again. It is always that room. May always _be_ that room. Once her dreams were of Lothering and the desperate scrape across the countryside - ogres and darkspawn; Wesley and Bethany. The Deep Roads replaced Lothering and the twins, back together in death, tormented her dreams for months. They were joined in time by her mother, or at least what that monster had turned Leandra into. 

For now, at least, the room had supplanted all of her failures.

There were no demons this time, only memories. They were disjointed and mercifully unclear but terrifying nonetheless. The sound of steel shod footsteps, whistling of the caning rod, low voices raised in laughter and scorn. The smell of dust and blood. She was bound again, hanging by her wrists and waiting for the pain to end. 

In her bed, huddled under the covers, Hawke twisted, a slight whimper echoing in the silence. The drapes were drawn and the room dark except for a single shaft of bright sunlight. Warm and slightly smoky air filled the room in a heavy embrace. 

Low voices, obviously male and obviously displeased, drifted up from the ground floor. Not loud enough to understand, the sound managed to worm its way into Hawke’s dream. A pale foot shot out from under the covers as the whimpers grew louder. The rising and falling of the voices suddenly pushed through the last vestiges of her dream and Hawke catapulted out of bed. Her eyes wild, she scrambled towards the corner and crouched, making herself as small as possible.

Across the tips of her fingers, lightning danced.

 _They’re coming_ , she thought. _Coming back for me. To take me back to that room and finish what they started._ The panic skittered across her mind, clamped down on her throat, crushed her chest. Her breath came in sharp quick pants that barely managed to provide enough oxygen for continued consciousness. The sudden sharp clang of metal on stone twisted the panic higher and Hawke covered her head with her arms, drawing down deep inside herself and screaming. The voice of her panic drowned out the small quiet voice of reason - _Bodhan must have dropped a tray_. The random clarity flashed across her brain like the lightning she favored – there and gone in a flash so fast she failed to register it.

The sound of footsteps climbing the stairs outside her room seemed to echo and reverberate in her head. She screamed again, a high-pitched keening noise that squealed out between her clenched lips and tight throat. The pace of the steps increased and the scream became one long drawn out exhalation rising in volume and drowning out the tiny quiet voice of reason – _It’s Fenris._ On some level deep below the panic that had her in its thrall she recognized the voices, recognized the cadence of the footsteps drawing near, but the wild bird that was her fright fluttered madly in her chest, drowning out all coherent thought.

When Fenris threw open the door to their room, her head shot up and hands extended. She screamed her defiance and blasted him with the energies dancing across her fingertips. He flew backwards and landed outside the door in a heap. 

_Stayawaystayawaystayaway_

The sound of muttered curses and pounding boots filled her with dread. Burying her head in her arms and drawing even closer upon herself, she tried to hide in the shadows of the corner but the scream returned; shocking in its volume it drew everyone in the house towards it.

~

Fenris ground his teeth and tried not to growl. He knew that Varric had Andrea’s best interest at heart. He had agreed that his idea had merit. But now that the time had come to put said plan in action, his doubts were overwhelming.

“You have not seen her, Varric. She is not ready to leave. She startles at the slightest noise. She cringes at the mere sight of Cormac or Durstan or Bodhan. The only one here beside myself that she can tolerate in the same room is Orana. It will be obvious to all that see her that something is wrong.”

“Well, Broody, there’s only so long that she can hide in here. Sooner or later, she’s going to have to face the world.”

“I understand, “ Fenris spat. “Truly. But now is not the time. She seemed fine this morning. We talked, we ate, she seemed almost herself when I told her of your plan. Then Durstan woke up and came looking for food. When he entered the kitchen, she panicked. She screamed and would have thrown a spell at him if I had not intervened. I had to carry her back to our bedroom. It took almost an hour for her to calm down enough to fall asleep. She is not ready.”

Isabela watched the two men argue. It was fascinating, really. Fenris strung together more words in these last few minutes than he had in years. The rise and fall of their voices carried across the house and drew spectators. Cormac and Durstan watched from the doorway of the foyer. Orana was in her usual perch, crouched against the wall, her eyes wide and hands twisting around themselves. 

With a curse, Fenris threw up his hands in frustration and turned sharply away from Varric. His movement startled Bodhan and the tea tray he carried clattered from his hands as Fenris collided with him. The resulting clang of metal tray on the stone floor temporarily silenced the room.

In the silence that followed was a scream. It was shrill and soft at first but grew steadily in volume. It seemed to draw Fenris towards it like a magnet. He left Bodhan scampering to gather broken crockery and charged up the stairs. As his steps echoed through the estate, the scream grew louder. Isabela followed, her steps quiet and sure. Varric, too, joined the parade upstairs, cursing at Fenris to slow the hell down and think. 

Thinking was simply something that Fenris was incapable of at this point. Footsteps pounding up the stairs, he threw open the bedroom door and was met by the full brunt of Hawke’s panic-inspired magic. The lightning that struck him full in the chest knocked him out of the doorway and up against the balcony banister. Isabela jerked back in surprise as he flew past only to be nearly knocked off her feet by Varric plowing into her backside. 

“Check Fenris. I’ll deal with Hawke.”

Varric nodded and Isabela crept quietly into the bedroom. Hawke was huddled in a corner, her arms over her head. She rocked back and forth in time to the frantic tempo of her words.

_Stayawaystayawaystayaway_

“Hawke, honey. It’s Isabela. Look at me, sweet thing.” 

Isabela crouched low and tiptoed closer to Hawke, her hands open in front of her. She kept up a steady stream of soothing words, trying to break through the panic. Hawke stayed down, her knees drawn up and her head buried as Isabela approached. She only looked up when Isabela placed a tentative hand on her head.

“Hawke. Do you know who I am?”

Hawke flinched at her touch but lifted her head enough to sneak a darting glance at Isabela. Recognition flashed in her eyes and she nodded. Isabela placed her other hand on Hawke’s elbow as she dropped into a tailor’s seat beside her friend. She purposefully sat to block Hawke’s sight of the doorway.

“You’re safe, Hawke. No one here will hurt you.”

Hawke shook her head in denial. “I heard them. Voices. Downstairs. They’re coming back.”

“No, Hawke. It was just Fenris and Varric arguing.”

“Fenris? Where is he? Why isn’t he here?”

“Well, he’s around. He’ll be here as soon as he comes to.”

“Comes to?”

“Hawke, I’m afraid you…well…might have knocked him ass over teakettle. With a lightning spell.”

“What!” Hawke tried to stumble to her feet but Isabela restrained her. They struggled until Isabela jerked Hawke’s arms sharply and she sat down hard, her jaw clicking shut.

“You need to calm down. Fenris is fine. Varric is taking care of him.”

Hawke curled into herself and began to rock again. She rested her head on her arms and cried silently. Isabela scooted closer and wrapped her arms around her friend and held on. 

“He’ll be fine, Hawke. You will, too. I know you’re scared right now and you have every right to be, but you need to know that we will, none of us, let anything happen to you.”

“He’s the only thing keeping me sane Isabela and I almost killed him.”

“Nonsense. So, you knocked him down. Fenris has faced worse and survived.”

Hawke sighed. “I hate being afraid. I _hate_ it, Bela.”

“I know. It sucks.”

Hawke chuckled weakly and shook her head. “It does.”

“There’s only one thing you can do.”

“And what’s that.”

“Get back on the horse. Keep trying. Pretend. You have to face your fear and do what has to be done, however you can.”

“Pretend, huh? You think I should just pretend nothing happened? I can’t trust myself when I sleep, Bela. Either I have to fight off demons in the Fade or I have to worry about lashing out at the people around me when I wake up, or don’t as the case may be.”

“I take it you were dreaming before you went all sparkly on Fenris’ ass.”

“Yes. I thought…they were coming …coming back to finish the job. I heard them. Voices and then boots.” Hawke shuddered and turned her head away, burying her face in her knees. “I hear footsteps and I think it’s Alrik and his thugs behind me again.”

Isabela tightened her arms around Hawke and held on tight. “Look, Hawke. I can’t tell you it’s going to be easy. It’s not. But I can tell you this. You have to keep trying. If you let the fear win, then you let that rat bastard beat you.”

Hawke was silent. She knew that Isabela was right. Knowing something and being strong enough to act on it are two different things. She was afraid. Afraid of Cormac. Afraid of Durstan. Afraid of Bodhan. Afraid, really, of the male half of the population. The mere thought of seeing a Templar was enough to make her piss her smallclothes. 

Fenris was the exception. She felt safe with him. Some part of her, deep down, knew that he would never hurt her and that he would protect her. But now, she’d hurt him. Now, she was the one who couldn’t be trusted. 

The sound of footsteps brought her head up sharply. Varric stood just inside the doorway, his cocky grin refreshingly familiar. Still, Hawke flinched when she saw him and pulled back. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. _It’s only Varric_. Opening her eyes, she forced herself to look over Isabela’s shoulder and meet Varric’s eyes.

“How is he?”

“Broody? He’s fine. Ask him yourself.”

Fenris stepped around Varric and slowly crossed the room. Isabela withdrew bit by bit as he approached until Hawke grabbed onto her hand to restrain her. Her grip was white knuckled and Isabela pursed her lips in pain. Seeing Hawke’s panicked clench, Fenris hesitated.

“Andrea?”

Fenris took a small step closer and knelt with fluid grace several feet away. He held out his arms to her and waited. Hawke ran her eyes over him, looking for any sign of injury or fear. Finding neither, she let go of Isabela and crawled over to him, stopping just out of his grasp. Rising to her knees, she bowed her head and trembled. 

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

“I am fine.”

She took a shaky breath and bit her lip to keep from crying. Forcing herself to look up, she shook her head, tears running down her face.  
“I could have killed you.”

“You did not.” 

Neither of them noticed Isabela stand and move behind them to join Varric. The two rogues watched as Fenris dropped his arms and scooted closer to Hawke. She let her head fall again as he inched slowly closer until he was near enough to take her hands in his. Moving closer still, until their knees touched, he placed one of her hands on his cheek and one over his heart and held them in place with his own.

“I am fine, Andrea. I was wrong to charge in here when you were distraught. One should never attempt to startle a mage. I know better.”

A small smile flashed across Hawke’s face as she looked up at Fenris. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“Nothing. But I am not going anywhere.”

A sob escaped from Hawke as she launched herself at Fenris. He flung his arms around her and pulled her close as the tears began to fall. He held on as she wept and rubbed her back. The outburst was short and Hawke pulled back a bit, struggling to compose herself.

She placed one hand on his cheek and smiled. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

Fenris just smiled and stood up, drawing Hawke along with him. Once on their feet, he embraced her again and drew her hair behind one ear to kiss her cheek. Wiping the last of her tears away with his thumb, he rested his forehead against hers.

“If you two lovebirds are done, I think it’s time we had a chat.”

Hawke and Fenris looked over at Varric, both of them startled and a bit sheepish at having forgotten him. 

“Yes, Varric. It is, “ Hawke answered. She looked at Isabela and smiled crookedly. “Time to pretend.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

The library was a much-unused room in the Hawke estate since Leandra’s death. It was certainly one that few outside of the residents had ever set foot in. On any other day, Varric might have taken the opportunity to peruse the shelves and see what sort of reading material the Amells and Hawke had gathered. Today, however, he was focused entirely on one Andrea Hawke.

She sat on the divan, nestled between the Elf’s legs. The picture they painted of two people very much in love would have sparked his imagination if it weren’t for the white knuckled grip Dre had on Broody’s arm; or the look of concern on the Elf’s face as he watched Hawke struggle to keep her composure. He watched as Dre took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She breathed slowly and deeply for several moments until she was able to relax the tiniest of bits. The hand on the Elf’s arm regained its color.

When Hawke relaxed, the tension permeating the room eased just a tiny bit. Rivani, from her chair to his left, sighed softly. Throughout this entire debacle, Varric had been pleasantly surprised at the pirate. She had more than proven herself with her actions, and her quick thinking had diffused several volatile moments, the latest just moments ago.

Hawke opened her eyes and looked around the room. Varric and Isabela sat across from her in the matching armchairs near the fireplace. She smiled fondly at Isabela who nodded and returned her smile. Taking a deep breath, she turned her gaze to Varric. Her best friend didn’t smile, his expression as serious as she had ever seen. She shivered just slightly and felt Fenris’ arm around her waist tighten ever so gently. 

“Varric, I know you want me to put your plan in motion as soon as possible. However, we need to work on a few things before we can do that. For one, I need to be able to overcome…or at least to hide…my…discomfort around…well, around men. Certainly around you and Cormac and Durstan.”

“That would be wise. Do you have a plan?”

“Well, sort of. Mostly, it just consists of having you all around until I can stop…flinching. I’m really more concerned about what happens when I encounter a Templar. But I have an idea.”

“Oh? Do share?” quipped Varric.

“Do you remember that old shield of Aveline’s?”

“The one she got all pissy about trading in for the fancy Orlesian one you found?”

“That’s the one. She still has it. It was her first husband’s. She may have thought I would sell it, but I knew it meant a great deal to her. I want her to come to the house and bring the shield and Donnic. City Guard plate isn’t the same thing as Templar armor, but with the shield, it should be close enough.”

“With poor Donnic as test subject?”

“Exactly. I figure if I can…refrain from setting him on fire, I should be able to manage in public.”

“You will not be leaving the estate alone, Andrea,” Fenris said.

“I know. And I’m counting on that. On you. When the time comes.”

“So, the first step is to get adjusted to your new housemates. I’ll go fetch them,” Isabela said, surging to her feet.

“Not so fast, Bela. I have a job for you.”

The pirate paused, frowning. “Oh?”

“I believe part of the plan included getting Merrill and Anders out of the city as well. Can you go fetch Merrill?”

Hawke felt Fenris tense under her at the mention of Anders name. The low growl that issued forth made her turn in his arms to look at his face.

“What is it lately? Every time I mention Anders name you get all growly. More so than usual, I mean.” Everyone else in the room stopped moving and turned as one to look at Hawke. She looked at each of them in turn and then back to Fenris. “What am I missing? Is Anders all right?”

“He’s fine, Dre,” said Isabela. “At least he was the last time that any of us saw him.”

“And when was that?”

“He stayed for a few hours after healing your injuries. He left before you woke,” Varric added.

“Fenris?” Hawke said, looking at him and trying to catch his eyes. He had ducked his head and his eyes were hidden under his white bangs. 

Fenris snarled but refused to look up. “He has not been back since that day. I have not left your side. Whatever has become of him, it was not by my hand.”

“All right, now I’m pissed. Just what the hell is going on?” Hawke extricated herself from Fenris’ hold and stood up. “Varric. Isabela. Tell me what you know.”

Varric got out of his chair and turned to stir up the dying embers in the fireplace. “Anders is fine. He’s in his clinic.”

“Oh bollocks. Why do I have to tell her?” Isabela muttered. She looked up at Hawke and grimaced. “We brought Anders with us when we went to find you. We didn’t know what to expect but we thought a healer might come in handy. It’s a good thing we did, too. You were in a bad way, so much blood. I thought you were going to bleed out on us. We all did. Fenris called for him, called for Anders to come. Justice answered. He seemed rather pleased at the situation. Self-righteous prig that he is. I knocked some sense into him and Anders did what we brought him to do. He saved your life. But for a moment, we…I thought he wasn’t going to do anything but let you bleed. So, as you might imagine, Fenris is understandably upset with Anders.”

Hawke went very still, processing the idea that someone she considered a friend, someone who had professed to love her, had to be persuaded to heal her. The same man who railed against the injustices of the Templars, who had killed his lover rather than see him live as a Tranquil, this man had hesitated. But then, it wasn’t Anders, was it? It was Justice. What a laugh. Justice thought her rape and torture was somehow justified because she didn’t believe every mage deserved freedom and every Templar deserved death. The situation in Kirkwall between the Templars and Mages was intolerable but the answer wasn’t the simple black and white solution that Anders and Justice proposed. Not for the first time, Andrea wondered what Anders had been like before he merged with Justice and how much who he was now was a result of his poorly thought out decision.

Hawke’s mabari lumbered to her feet from her place by the fire and padded over to lean against her mistress with a soft whine. Andrea smiled and rubbed her ears. “Hey, Aibhne. I’m okay, girl.” The dog just panted and looked up with her doggy grin, tongue lolling out to one side. Hawke sighed and slid to the ground, her back against the divan and her hand on the large black hound’s head.

“Well, that wasn’t really what I was expecting to hear, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Justice and I don’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of things.”

“If it’s any consolation to you, Anders feels like shit about the whole thing. Called himself an abomination and everything,” Varric said.

Fenris jerked his head up at Varric’s comment and glared at him before looking away from all of them. Hawke placed a hand on his knee and squeezed gently, looking up at him. He smiled softly at her and slid forward until he once again had her between his knees. He stroked her head and leaned down to kiss the top of it.

Andrea leaned her head back in his lap and kissed him quickly on the lips. She sighed and lifted her head, one hand still on her dogs’ head and the other draped across Fenris’ leg. 

“I can’t pretend that some part of me isn’t glad that he used that term on himself, but Anders isn’t my problem right now. Isabela, if you’ll go get Merrill I’d appreciate it. Varric, would you call Cormac and Durstan up here. Might as well get started.”

The two rogues left the room and Fenris leaned back against the divan, slouching. He kept one hand on Andrea’s shoulder but threw the other across his eyes. He’d managed to not think about the Mage’s betrayal with his focus on Andrea. To have it brought back up now and have her hear about it was awful, almost as gut wrenching as it was when it occurred. Still, to know that the Mage was contrite, had some inkling of the wrongness of his situation, was something altogether unexpected.

“Are you all right, Andrea? I know you consider him a friend.”

“Well,” she sighed, “not so much anymore. To tell you the truth, these last few years Anders has gotten so extreme, so obsessed with his manifesto, that I have been trying to distance myself a bit. I tried not to see just how bad he’d gotten, but this…this is too much to ignore.” She sighed again and shook her head. “Still, I had hoped to be a…moderating influence. I don’t know that I can just turn my back completely.”

“You are too compassionate for your own good. And he does not deserve your compassion.”

“You know, he once told me something similar in regards to you. He was wrong, too.”

“Hmph. Are you sure?”

Hawke frowned and jerked her head back to look at Fenris. “Maker. Don’t be an arse, Fenris.”

He uncovered his eyes and peered at her through fingers. She was glaring at him, but she wasn’t shaking, her arm across his knee was relaxed and her grip on her mabari’s head was gentle. Perhaps anger was a good distraction. 

“The time will come when the Abomination does something that you cannot forgive. If this is not it, I shudder to think what it will be.”

“You have a point, as always. But Anders is a big boy. He’s survived in his Darktown hovel for years. He will survive this, too,” Andrea sighed. “I have other things to focus on right now.”

As if on cue, Varric returned with her two new staff members. At the sight of the three men, Hawke tensed, her hand on Fenris’ leg clutched tightly and the dog lifted her head from her lap to growl softly at the trio. Fenris sat up and placed both hands on Hawke’s shoulders, squeezing gently.

“Breathe, Andrea. You know Varric. Cormac and Durstan will not harm you,” he whispered as he leaned close to her ear.

Hawke nodded her head before closing her eyes and taking a shuddering breath. “Hello, Durstan. I’m sorry…about earlier.”

Durstan smiled and tucked his head. The Champion had nearly fried his arse when he stumbled into the kitchen for an early morning snack. He’d been frightened then, but no longer. Looking at her now, it was hard to reconcile the healthy, if shaken, woman with the bloody and battered body Fenris had carried away from Darktown.

“I’m glad to see you looking so much better, Mistress.”

“I’m told I have you and Cormac to thank for that fact.”

“It was nothing,” Durstan said, nudging Cormac with his elbow.

“Umm, yes. We was just doing what was right, “ Cormac muttered.

Hawke forced herself to look at the two men. They were not much more than boys, really. Cormac was the taller of the two, his height reminding her of Carver. His dark hair was neatly combed back from eyes that darted about the room, taking in everything. Some of Carver’s pants might fit him, she thought. In fact, it looked like he was wearing something of her brother’s already. He seemed as nervous as she was, which in an odd way was comforting.

Durstan was shorter than his friend and more solidly built with broad shoulders and muscled arms. He might have made what coin he earned working the docks. He certainly had the look about him of someone who could handle himself. His auburn hair was cut short and he had a scruffy beard. She suspected that without the beard, he’d look far younger. He returned her look with a smile and she caught him glancing at Fenris. An odd look passed across his face when he did. Not attraction, she’d seen that often enough throughout the years from both men and women who looked at her lover. No, it was subtler than that. Admiration. That’s what it was. And here Fenris thought the boy afraid of him.

Varric gave the two a small shove, forcing them to take several steps further into the room. Hawke flinched and her hand left Fenris’ leg and lightening danced along her fingertips. Fenris squeezed tighter on her shoulders as the others froze in mid-step. 

Aibhne looked from Fenris and Hawke to the others in the room. Hawke was staring at the men across from her with her face in a rictus of terror. Fenris was whispering to Hawke, trying to calm her. The dwarf and the two newcomers were very, very still trying not to draw Hawke’s fire. Aibhne knew the dwarf, had met the other two, yet her mistress seemed very frightened of people she shouldn’t be. In fact, everyone in the room seemed frightened of her mistress. So, she lifted her head and licked Hawke’s face.

The warm wet tongue that travelled from her chin to her forehead broke Hawke’s thousand-yard stare. She shook her head and closed her eyes before pushing the dog away with both hands. 

“Aibhne! What’s gotten in to you?”

The mabari just stared at her, grinning her doggy grin. Varric laughed, a loud sound that broke the tension in the room.

“Saved by the dog! I may never live it down,” he chuckled as he crossed the room to collapse in the chair by the fire. 

Cormac and Durstan looked at each other and then back at the others in the room. With a shake of his head, Durstan smiled and crossed the room to stand behind Varric’s chair. Cormac, meanwhile, was still a bit shaken. 

“I’m sorry, Cormac. I’m still a bit anxious. I get…frightened easily. Why don’t you have a seat and let’s get to know each other.”

Cormac nodded and quickly moved to take a seat in the chair Isabela had vacated earlier. Hawke buried her head in her dog’s neck as he moved across the room. The warm bulk of her mabari was an anchor for her and a distraction. She was thankful that Aibhne had managed to break her out her panic, though her methods left a bit to be desired. Still, if it meant she didn’t blow up the people around her, she supposed she could live with a bit of dog drool.

Hawke kept her face turned away from the others, her cheek resting on Aibhne’s shoulder. When she made no move to speak, Fenris sighed and turned his attention to the two boys.

“Varric tells me you are from Ferelden.”

“Yes, ser,” Durstan said. “I was born in the Denerim. Cormac hails from Amaranthine.” 

“I take it you fled the Blight.”

“That’s right.”

“And your families?”

“Well, ser, mine weren’t around. Didn’t know my Da and my mother died a few years before the Blight.”

“How on earth did you make it to Kirkwall then,” Hawke spoke up, her curiosity finally getting the better of her.

“When the Blight was headed our way, I stowed away on a ship bound for Kirkwall.”

“And the crew didn’t toss you overboard when they found you?” Varric asked

“Well, they thought about it. Might have done it, too, if it weren’t for the fact it was storming something fierce and they needed every hand they could get. They put me to work. Captain even offered to let me stay on when we made port.”

“Why didn’t you take him up on his offer,” Hawke questioned.

Durstan shrugged. “Didn’t much care for being a sailor. I’ve regretted it a time or two since. Mostly when I was going to sleep hungry. S’not easy being Ferelden in Kirkwall.”

Hawke nodded. She understood completely. Her first few years in Kirkwall had been difficult. Despite being named Champion, she still encountered anti-Ferelden sentiment on occasion. She’d been very, very lucky, she knew.

“Well, that’s going to change now,” she said, smiling at Durstan. She found that if she focused on his voice and the familiar Ferelden accent, she could relax. He looked and sounded nothing like the Templars that hurt her. As long as she reminded herself of that, she could keep the panic at bay.

“And you, Cormac? Durstan said you were from Amaranthine. How did you arrive in Kirkwall?” Fenris prodded.

“My Father and I left Amaranthine after Lothering fell and it looked like Ferelden would follow. We spent almost all of our funds to book passage. When we got to Kirkwall, we were among the last of the refugees allowed in. Father had worked the docks in Amaranthine and found work here pretty quickly. He died about a year after we got here. Load came loose from its netting and crushed him.”

“How old were you?”

“10. Too young to work the docks. Ended up running for the Coterie, but the work was never steady.”

“That’s how we met, Cormac and me. Did a job together for the Coterie. Started looking out for each other.”

Now that the two had told their sad tale, one all too familiar in the Undercity, Hawke realized that Durstan was the older. Not by much, but enough. Again, the familiar Ferelden accent distracted her and kept her grounded in the idea that these two were no danger to her. Still, she flinched at every movement. Cormac, in particular, seemed unable to be still. One leg bounced whenever he wasn’t talking. When he was, his hands moved, twitching and pointing. She wondered if that nervous energy made him a good thief or a bad one. Probably made sneaking around difficult. The fact he was still alive and in Varric’s good graces was a mark in his favor, at least. Still, every time he twitched, so did she. It was exhausting.

“Gentlemen, what expectations do you have for employment in my humble abode?”

Durstan looked surprised and Cormac just frowned, trying to make sense of Hawke’s question. This mansion was far from humble and Cormac wondered if Hawke was making fun of him.

“I expect that’s more up to you, Mistress,” Durstan answered.

“Varric, help me out here.”

“Well, Hawke, Cormac is a reasonably decent pickpocket. Good enough to not get caught, at least. Not sure what else he can do but I can take him under my wing, so to speak. Durstan was generally muscle. Decent enough brawler.”

“Oh, aye. I’ve had my share of fights. Came out on top most times. Just fists and clubs. Whatever was handy. Not much call to use something like yours. Though I would dearly like to learn,” he nodded at Fenris.

Fenris seemed surprised and motioned for the boy to join him in the center of the room. Standing up, he removed himself from Hawke’s hold and crossed over to Durstan, looking him over with a critical eye. Durstan was slightly taller than he, so the length of the greatsword would be no problem. 

“Are you right or left-handed?”

“Left.”

“Hmm. That might pose a few problems in training but it would be to your advantage otherwise. Strike me.”

“Pardon?”

“I will not break, Durstan.”

Durstan frowned and shrugged. He half-heartedly swung at Fenris, who easily dogged the blow making Durstan stumble. Fenris kicked him in the backside, sending him sprawling across the floor. Durstan growled and jumped up. Spinning on one foot, he kicked out with the other, catching Fenris’ knees and knocking him down. He faced the elf, fists up and glaring.

Fenris smiled broadly and leapt up, throwing himself at Durstan who reacted with a roundhouse punch that knocked his head back. They might have continued further but their sparring was interrupted by a loud bark from Aibhne. Turning to look over his shoulder at the dog, Fenris found her standing over the huddled form of Hawke.

“Andrea!”

Fenris spun away from Durstan and ran to Hawke. Aibhne stepped out of his way as he gathered the mage up in his arms. She had her arms over her head and was whimpering as he tried to calm her. 

“Andrea, I am sorry. All is well. Es secura.”

Durstan stood in the middle of the room, shocked at the sudden change. This was different from the frightened mage threatening to light his arse on fire in the kitchen. This woman, huddled into herself, was terrified. She was so far removed from the confident Champion he remembered catching sight of as she fought Carta and Coterie in Darktown that he was shocked. He had to do something to prove to her that he would never hurt her. 

He crossed over to Fenris and Hawke and knelt beside them. He placed a hand gently on Hawke’s head and didn’t pull away when she flinched.

“Mistress, I’m right sorry, I am. I didn’t mean to scare you. You have to know that I would never hurt you or Master Fenris. Never.”

Hawke heard his words and nodded. She knew she had no reason to be afraid of him, but seeing him strike out at Fenris had been petrifying. It was bad enough, this unrelenting fear that the Templars would come for her to finish what they had started, but seeing Fenris threatened had brought a whole new level of dread to the forefront. Losing him now would destroy her. He was literally the only thing keeping her sane. A part of her knew that in any confrontation with Templars, Fenris would put her safety ahead of his. He would willingly put his body between hers and those who would wish her harm and sacrifice himself if the need arose. Right now, that would be the first time such an encounter occurred. She would be next to worthless in a fight if her reaction was going to be like this – huddled and all but pissing herself in terror. No, this had to end and it had to end now.

Hawke shook off both Fenris and Durstan and staggered to her feet. She faced them; teeth clenched and tears streaking down her face. She breathed rapidly through her nose and kept her hands at her side. Her gaze flicked between the two men as she fought back the panic. 

Aibhne pushed between Fenris and Durstan and sat at their feet. She watched Hawke intently, a soft whine filling the air. Hawke glanced down at the dog and nodded sharply.

“I’m sorry. I owe you all an apology.”

“For what, Mistress?”

“For being a sniveling idiot, Durstan. I can’t fall apart at the slightest sign of trouble. I’m better than this.”

“You are not an idiot, Andrea.”

“Look, Hawke, no one expects you to act like nothing happened,“ Varric spoke up from his seat. 

“Right now, I’m a liability. I’m threat to all of you, directly and indirectly both. That’s not something I’m used to.”

“Well, Mistress, you managed not to threaten me with magic this time. I call that an improvement.”

“Yep, no sparkly fingers in sight.”

“Oh for the love of...” Andrea sighed and shook out her hands. They were beginning to cramp and she suspected her palms might be bleeding from her nails. 

“I’m thinking that beastie of yours has the knack,” Cormac spoke up.

Hawke frowned and looked between him and the dog. “The knack?”

“Seems he knows when to do something to distract you. Keep him close.”

“He’s a she and a war dog, not a nursemaid.”

“Begging your pardon, but can’t she be both. For a while at least?”

“See now, Hawke, that’s why I paid him to watch. He sees things the rest of us don’t. Aibhne, my dear, you are not only a fine Wicked Grace player, but also a good friend. Watch over your mistress for us, sweetheart. I suspect I can convince Bodhan to find you some choice meaty bits as reward.”

Aibhne barked once, happily, and trotted over to sit next to Hawke. Leaning against her leg, she barked again and looked up at her, big brown eyes gazing in adoration.

“Oh, I see. Well, if you’re going to bribe my dog on my sovereign, make sure that I get my money’s worth, at least.” 

“No problem, Hawke. Consider it done.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

Collapsing on her bed, Hawke let out a long sigh. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, after an afternoon spent trying to adjust to her newest household members. She wasn’t the only one tired, either. Aibhne lay curled at the foot of the bed. The Mabari had followed her upstairs, turned twice in a circle instead of her customary thrice and started snoring almost instantly. There’d been quite a bit of nudging and a couple more full-face licks from her throughout the day. It seemed Cormac was correct. Aibhne had quite the knack for distracting Hawke when she tensed up. 

Despite her exhaustion, Andrea felt the day a moderate success. She’d managed to not throw a single spell and, after the disastrous impromptu sparring match, kept her wits about her as well. There had been a few tense moments, but between Fenris and Aibhne things had progressed about as well as she could have hoped.

Merrill and Isabela’s arrival had relieved the tension immensely. Hawke smiled remembering how the pair swept into the library, bringing some much needed humor and distraction with them. Durstan stammered and stumbled over the petite elf that remained oblivious, as always. Cormac had jumped to his feet when the two women entered the room and Isabela, being Isabela, had taken advantage of his chivalry and stolen his chair. Merrill had held her tightly for several moments, kissed her forehead and then plopped herself at Isabela’s feet. 

Isabela launched into an improbable and highly embellished tale about Hawke, the Viscount’s son and the Qunari. Andrea smiled as she looked back on the pirate and her story telling. She had long known there was more to Isabela than most people expected and today was no exception. Her tales, helped along by Varric and Merrill both, kept everyone entertained and allowed Hawke to focus on something besides her fear. 

There had been moments, of course, mostly brought on by Cormac’s incessant need to move. Clearly, Varric’s first task was to find a way to redirect that tic. Conversely, Andrea found herself relaxing more and more around Durstan as the day progressed. His unruffled manner was a calming influence. By the end of the day, he’d taken to placing a hand on Cormac’s shoulder whenever his twitching started to grate on her nerves. He seemed to recognize that his friend’s nervousness was feeding her own. Cormac would relax just slightly at the older boy’s touch and grow still for a few blessed minutes. 

The boys, and that’s the only way she could see them, were young, Durstan all of 18 and Cormac 16, Their youth was oh so obvious and their closeness reminded her of Bethany and Carver at that age. The usual pain clenched her heart as she remembered her siblings. Cormac wasn’t as prickly as Carver, but he certainly showed the potential. She smiled, remembering the brotherly interactions between the two. Yes, the day had ended as well as could be expected, given its start.

A soft knock at the door roused Hawke from her thoughts and she looked up as Fenris slipped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. 

“This is your room, too, Fenris. Why are you knocking?”

“It is never wise to startle a mage,” he said, the slight smile on his face softening his words. “How are you, carissima?”

“Tired, but…encouraged.”

Fenris arched an eyebrow and crossed the room to join Andrea. He reached down and patted Aibhne as he passed by her pallet and then perched on the edge of the bed. He took her hand in his and idly rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb.

“Encouraged?”

“Well, yes. After a rocky start, I managed not to blast anyone or curl up in a ball. So, progress.”

He chuckled and squeezed her hand. “Donnic and Aveline will be by tomorrow afternoon. Are you ready?”

“No, but sitting around on my arse won’t make me any more prepared,” she said, sitting up and sighing. She scooted closer towards Fenris and rested her head on his shoulder. “I like Durstan. Will you teach him to fight?”

“Yes, I believe so. He is tall enough and strong enough, I think, to use a great sword. It will a bit of a challenge to teach someone who is left-handed. Perhaps I can speak with Aveline and see if she has someone who can assist in his training.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“And what of Cormac?”

“Up to Varric, “ she mumbled. 

“Andrea?”

“Yes?”

“You should get some rest.”

“Not sleepy.”

“Yes. This is why your eyes are closed.”

“Shows you what you know. It’s called resting your eyes.”

“I see. Still, perhaps you can rest them lying down. Just in case.”

Andrea stuck her tongue out him without opening her eyes and snuggled closer. “Fine right here.”

Fenris sighed and placed one hand on her cheek, pressing her head closer. “Always.”  
~~  
The next morning found the entire Hawke household gathered around the dining table. Bodhan and Orana fidgeted, not used to taking their meals with Hawke. After much persuasion, they had reluctantly joined everyone and were now perched on the edge of their seats. Cormac looked almost as uncomfortable, pulling at the collar of his new tunic. Durstan had watched Fenris, looked around at his fellow servants, shrugged and started eating. 

“Cormac, does your tunic not fit?”

“What? Oh no, mistress, it’s fine.”

“Then leave it alone. If it’s not going to strangle you, I’d prefer it was left in one piece.”

“Of course, mistress.” He frowned when he heard Durstan’s snicker and nudged him with his elbow. He focused on the food on his plate, more than he remembered seeing in one sitting since before he came to Kirkwall.

“All right then. I trust everyone slept well?”

A mumbled chorus of yeses greeted Hawke’s question and she groaned. Damn it, this wouldn’t be so hard if they’d all just relax. She idly wondered if there was a spell to lighten the mood, but shook her head. 

“I know you’re all wondering why I insisted that we do this,” she said, gesturing at the gathering. “We need to get used to each other. Damn, I hate this,” she muttered, looking down at her plate for a moment. She lifted her head with a jerk, eyes flashing. “I know you don’t believe it, but I really hate the entire idea of having servants. And don’t start with me, Bodhan, “she pointed her fork at the dwarf. “I know you feel obligated, and Maker knows I couldn’t take care of this house without you and Orana. I just wish you all would relax. No one is losing a job today. Oh, Andraste’s tits, you’re all family. Even you two,” she twitched her fork at Cormac and Durstan. “Get used to it.”

“Hawke.”

“Fenris,” she snapped.

“Relax.” 

Aibhne chose this moment to push her way under the table, causing all the dishes to rattle. She stuck her head in Andrea’s lap, her nose just peeking our from under the tablecloth. Andrea looked down and burst out laughing. The others followed suit, except for Bodhan who leapt to his feet and grabbed the water pitcher that rocked dangerously.

“It’s been a while since you fit under the table, girl. Can you get out without knocking everything down?”

The Mabari panted her doggy grin and slid out with ease. She turned and sat down, resting her head on the arm of Andrea’s chair. Hawke placed one hand on her head and turned her attention back to the table.

“Well, that was exciting. Here’s the deal, folks. I need to be able to at least fake being the Champion by the next day or two. I can’t hide here forever. I’m getting there and the more time I spend in your presence,” she said, gesturing to each man in turn, “the easier it will be. The true test comes this afternoon, when Aveline and Donnic drop by. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to that. But, I will manage, with your help. For now, eat your breakfast and ignore the crazy mage.”

Hawke turned her attention to her food and attempted to tune out the others. After a moment of awkward silence, Durstan asked Fenris about when they could start training. Their discussion dominated the table but she could hear Orana and Bodhan discussing what the household needed from the market. Soon, their chatter filled the air and she smiled.

She watched Cormac surreptitiously as she ate. He was quiet, concentrating on shoveling food and adding more to his plate when he thought no one was looking. His eyes darted around the room and she realized she was following both conversations. He asked Orana if she knew how to make laverbread and the discussion that sparked was priceless, mainly for the look on Orana’s face as Cormac described the ingredients – boiled seaweed, oats and bacon. Despite her obvious misgivings, the elf promised to try it. Hawke wondered if Cormac realized the effect his grin had on the girl and shook her head.

“Hawke?”

‘Yes, love,” she said, turning her attention to Fenris. She smiled at the blush that blossomed on the tips of his ears.

“Do you still have one of Carver’s old blades?”

“I don’t know. Bodhan?’

“Yes, messere?”

“Do I still have one of Carver’s old great swords?”

“I think so, messere. Would you like me to fetch it for you?”

Hawke waved her hand, motioning the dwarf back to his seat. “No rush, Bodhan. Durstan needs a practice blade. You can bring it to Fenris after breakfast.”

“Yes, messere.”

“It’s Hawke, Bodhan. Just Hawke.”

“Yes, messere.”

“Stubborn dwarf.”

“Yes, messere.”

She smiled and turned her attention back to Fenris and Durstan. She lifted a shoulder in a helpless shrug.

“Apparently, I do have one of Carver’s old blades. You know, you should just ask Bodhan these things. He knows where everything is.”

“Clearly.”

‘So, Durstan, ready to learn the fine art of swordplay, are you?”

“Yes mistress.”

“Oh, bollocks, not you, too. It’s Hawke.”

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Bodhan, mistress.”

Hawke sighed. “Fine. Just so you know, Fenris might do his glow-y fist-y thing if you call him Master. I wouldn’t advise it.”

“Hawke,” Fenris growled.

She stuck her tongue out at the elf and Durstan threw back his head and laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, laverbread is traditional Welsh dish made of laver (seaweed). It apparently takes 10 hours to boil the seaweed into something that can be eaten. And before you ask, I’ve never had it. I found it on Google. You can find anything on Google.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with the proposal...

Bodhan lead the way downstairs to room in the cellar that Hawke avoided. She knew that her mother had saved Carver’s things from Gamlen’s house, knew that somewhere in these empty rooms were the last reminders of her brother. What she didn’t expect was how small the room was and how painfully empty.

Bodhan opened the door and motioned for Hawke, Fenris and Durstan to enter. The lantern he held shed just enough light to show a room with a small chest, a weapons rack and a neatly stacked pile of armor. Hawke nodded her thanks and took the lantern from the dwarf, stepped into the room and sighed. So little to show for someone who once loomed so large in her life.

Fenris motioned to Durstan to follow him and together they examined the two swords on the rack. One was old and worn, the edge dull. It would make a decent enough practice blade. The other was of finer quality. Fenris remembered when Varric had found it the treasure horde in the Deep Roads. Carver had claimed it for his own as soon as the dwarf pulled it out. When Carver fell to the taint, he had brought it out of the darkness and presented it to Leandra. 

Hawke knelt in front of the chest, lantern forgotten at her side. She hesitated to open it, not wanting to see the last remnants of her sibling. Sighing, she gathered up her courage and pushed open the lid. Folded neatly on top was a heavily embroidered linen shirt. Pulling it carefully out, she ran a hand across the fine stitching and took a deep breath. Mother had been working on this for Carver when they left for the Deep Roads. She may not have wanted both of her children on the journey, but she had every confidence that it would succeed and bring the Amell’s back into the graces of Kirkwall’s nobility. When it did, she intended her children to look the part.

Hawke set the shirt, still neatly folded, aside and looked back. Resting on top of paper wrapped bundle were two items that immediately brought tears to her eyes. She pulled out the worn leather bag and carefully untied the string that held it closed. She shook the contents into her open palm and smiled. Marbles filled her hand, some glass, some clay, some carefully rounded stone. She rolled them around in her hand before carefully refilling the bag. Tying it off with the string, she set it gently on top of Carver’s shirt.

She hesitated when reaching for the other item and a quiet sob slipped out of her clenched lips. A slender bronzed hand reached over her shoulder and pulled out a stuffed rabbit. Fenris handed her the toy as he squatted next to her.

“Was it yours?”

Hawke shook her head. “Beth’s.” She stroked the long ears and smiled, remembering her sister. The doll was worn and grey and much loved. “We moved around a great deal when Bethany and Carver and I were young; the better to avoid the Templars. Sometimes, we left in a hurry, only taking the time to gather the essentials. We left behind so much, so many times that over the years the twins and I learned to grab the things we couldn’t bear to leave first. For Beth, it was always Ser Rabbit here. For Carver, it was his bag of marbles. We’d finally managed to settle down in Lothering. Bethany and I were able to control and hide our magic well, enough so that no one suspected the Hawke sisters were apostates. So, when Carver came home, bloody and exhausted, one step ahead of the horde after the defeat at Ostagar, we’d almost forgotten what to do.”

“What was it you always brought with you?”

Hawke didn’t seem to hear his question as she absently stroked the ears of doll. With a faraway look in her eyes, she continued her story. “That day, when Carver burst into our house outside of Lothering, Mother, Bethany and I had just finished dinner. It was just after sunset and when he threw open the door the last rays of the sun bathed him in gold. Then he staggered in, covered in blood and barely able to stand and I thought that it was the end. That the Templars were right behind him and Beth and I were about to be dragged off to the Circle.

“Then Mother grabbed him and started shouting at us to heal him. Beth was always better at that than I was. Probably because she got so much practice on Carver. That boy could get into trouble without breaking a sweat,” she shook her head, a soft smile on her face as tears coursed down her cheeks. “We patched him up as best we could, Carver insisting all the time that we had to leave, leave right now. It was like all those times when we were young and Father would burst into the house and call out to Mother. I don’t even remember seeing Bethany with Ser Rabbit. Not even after…after the Ogre swatted her aside like a bothersome fly.”

“I am sorry that I never got the chance to meet your sister, carissima.”

“You would have liked her, Fenris. Everyone liked Beth. Mother must have found him, saved him. It would be like her to keep this from both Carver and I.”

“So, the marbles were your brother’s and the doll your sister’s. Did you have something, Andrea?”

She nodded. “Of course. We all did. Mother had a portrait of her parents. I had my Father’s grimoire.”

“That seems an odd thing for a child to keep.”

“It wasn’t a true grimoire, you see. It was something my Father made for me when he was teaching me to control my magic. He wrote down lessons for me to help me to remember, little bits of rhyme and nonsense.”

Fenris rested his hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. He caught Durstan’s eye and gestured for him to leave. Durstan nodded, taking the practice blade, and left. Turning back to Hawke, he kissed her softly on top of her head.

“I miss them, Fenris. I failed them all, one by one. Now there’s nothing left but this. And this drafty old house with too many empty rooms.”

“You did not fail them, Andrea.”

“First Beth, then Carver, then Mother. All dead because I didn’t protect them, didn’t save them. Father told me to watch over them and keep them safe and I failed.”

“No. Carver wanted to go on the expedition. He knew the risks. Leandra…that was not your fault. No more than it was Aveline’s or Emeric’s. Varric has told the tale of Bethany’s battle with the Ogre often enough. She died protecting your family. You diminish her sacrifice with this guilt.”

Hawke closed her eyes and tried to compose herself. Aveline had said much the same thing to her on their trip from Gwaren aboard that damn ship. Her mother, though she blamed Andrea at first while in the depths of her grief, absolved her for both Carver and Bethany. Some part of her knew they were all right but she couldn’t help feeling responsible.

Sighing, she wiped her eyes and placed the doll atop Carver’s shirt. With a hiccuping sigh, she poked the rabbit on its black button nose and turned back to the chest. A soft bulky mass wrapped in paper rested on the bottom of the chest. Andrea pulled it out and unwrapped it. When she saw what was revealed, she stood up and shook it out, holding it up to her body.

It was a wedding dress.

Or at least, that was the first thing that sprang to mind. Cream colored silk covered in tiny beads swooshed around her ankles as she twirled, grinning. She looked down at Fenris and her smile grew even wider. 

“I wonder if it fits?” Andrea thrust the dress at Fenris who caught it reflexively and watched her with amazement as she stripped off her robe. Once down to her smalls, Andrea retrieved the dress and carefully pulled it on. 

After some fussing and enlisting of Fenris’ help to manage the lacing at the back, she discovered to her delight that it did indeed fit. Long sleeves with intricate designs traced in beads and embroidery covered her arms. The neckline was scalloped and equally encrusted. The bodice fit snugly across her breast and the skirt fell in long folds from it, the edges decorated in more beads and embroidery. 

Andrea held her hands out from her body and spun in place, making the dress flare around her ankles.

“What do you think?”

Fenris swallowed audibly and forced his eyes back up to meet Andrea’s. “It is quite lovely.”

“Lovely? That’s the best you can do? Seriously?” She shook her head, grinning. Smoothing out the material under her hands, she admired the dress. “I wonder when she had this made? After we moved into the estate, no doubt. She must have had it made while she was plotting to marry me off to some unsuspecting nobleman’s get.”

“You did not know she had this made?”

Hawke shook her head. “Not at all. I would have remembered this dress. She may have given up on marrying me off to the cream of Kirkwall but she saved it.” She took a step closer and laid one hand on Fenris’ arm. “She must have hoped that I would find a use for it. Someday.”

Fenris swallowed again and his eyes widened in shock. They dropped closed when Hawke rested her other hand on his cheek. Leaning into her hand, he breathed deeply before softly resting his hands on her waist.

“I will never understand why, when you could have anyone you want, you persist in choosing me.”

“Cor cupit quod cupit cor.”

Fenris’ eyes popped open and he frowned. “When did you learn Arcanum?”

“When you wouldn’t teach me. Years ago. And you’re avoiding the subject.”

His left hand drifted up her body and settled above her heart while his right pulled Hawke’s hand off his arm and placed it on his chest, pressing it close. Leaning forward until his forehead rested against hers, Fenris let his eyes drift close.

“I am yours and you are mine. No one can change this.”

“Then marry me, Fenris. Let me wear this dress my mother tucked away with Bethany’s rabbit and Carver’s marbles. Let me proclaim to all Thedas that you are mine and I am yours. Will you?”

Fenris took a deep breath and pulled back to look Andrea in the eye. He smiled, that small lift of his lips that made Hawke’s heart flutter in her chest, and nodded.

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One can only take so much angst. I seriously had plans to get to Donnic and the fun to be had with the Templar shield and all but Hawke had other plans. Hopefully, this fluff meets with your approval.
> 
> And despite the proposal, there is no wedding in the foreseeable future. Though the vows are written.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

After her impromptu proposal, the dress was carefully packed away, the rabbit and pouch of marbles laid carefully atop it. Dre closed the chest, her fingertips lingering just a moment on the lid as Fenris picked it up. She followed behind him as he headed up the narrow cellar stairs. Neither one spoke; hadn’t spoken since he’d agreed.

She had not truly expected him to say yes. They had spent so many years in this dance they called a relationship, never quite admitting their feelings. They’d come so far since Danarius’ spectacular failure and ultimate demise. Even though they were together from that night onward, Fenris had refused all requests to move in with her. Until Alrik. 

The day she’d awoken to find his possessions in her room, she was thrilled. She needed him close, needed his presence to keep her grounded. When she’d found the dress, her brain had run away with her common sense. Seeing it, so beautiful and perfect, and knowing Mother saved it despite Dre’s own insistence that she would not marry any one of the many noble’s sons or merchants paraded before her. Leandra had known about Fenris, watched Dre grieve when he left the first time and finally conceded that her daughter was just like her mother. She would marry for love or not at all. Finding the dress preserved with her siblings’ childhood treasures was like hearing her mother voice her approval.

She glanced over at Fenris as they climbed the stairs towards their room. She watched him from the corner of her eye, looking for any signs of nervousness or irritation. He seemed perfectly fine, calm and unperturbed. A sense of giddiness bubbled through her and she grinned brightly. 

Shaking her head at her own impetuous behavior, she found it hard to believe that this was really happening. For so long, she’d believed that their dance would, could, only end in sadness. When they’d reconciled, she hoped that someday she might be able to convince him to fully share his life with her but gladly took whatever small pieces he was willing to give. Now, her dreams seemed to be coming true. Still, a small worm of doubt crept into her mind. Could he be doing this, agreeing to all of this, just because he felt he had to? Was his agreement some sort of atonement? 

As they reached their bedroom and Fenris set the chest near her desk, Andrea sighed and shook her head. She opened the chest and pulled out the toys. Crossing to the mantle, she set the pouch gently down, stroking the worn leather. The doll she propped up next to the pouch. It flopped over and she carefully moved it around until she found a way to make it sit up. It ended up with one worn arm thrown over the pouch for stability and she smiled at the image of Bethany and Carver together again.

Satisfied, she turned back to the chest and drew out the dress. Shaking it out, she carried it over to the armoire and found room for it inside. Closing the door, she turned to look for Fenris. He stood by the bed, his old greatsword in hand. She caught his eye and motioned for him to join her. 

Fenris crossed the room to take her outstretched hand after resting the sword on the foot of the bed. Dre looked down at the hand she held, slender bronze fingers twined in her own. Her emotions had run the gamut in just a few short minutes – grief and despair followed by a giddy joy. To say that she was unsettled was an understatement. Since Alrik, she never knew where her scattered thoughts would take her next. At least for now there appeared to be no abstract terror, just the run of the mill variety. Taking a deep breath, she met Fenris’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what,“ he frowned.

“I got carried away. Seeing all of…the things that mother saved. I didn’t…I don’t mean to...force your hand. I will understand if you want to …it’s okay if you didn’t mean it,” she stammered.

“Andrea, what are you talking about?”

“The dress, it was too much. After seeing the marbles and Ser Rabbit and remembering. Then finding the dress and knowing she still…that she approved. Oh, Maker’s breath, I’m making no sense. Did I force your hand?”

“In what way?”

“When I proposed, you silly prat.”

“I do not need a Chantry ceremony or public announcement to know that you are mine. Likewise, the lack of such will not keep me from your side. I will never leave you. Marrying you will not change anything but if it is what you want, then I will do it. Gladly.”

“It’s just that you spent so long not wanting…” Dre stopped, trying to keep the tears at bay. She closed her eyes and turned her head away.

Fenris watched her struggle, his heart clenching at the worry and pain that made her frown. He caught her chin on his fingertip and turned her face towards him. Sighing, he spoke.

“I always wanted you,” he whispered. “I was foolish. My pride and my fear kept me away for too long. And even when you took me back, I was still too frightened to give myself fully. That changed when Alrik took you.” He cupped her cheek in his hand and closed his eyes. “When I almost lost you. I will do anything I need to prove myself to you.”

Andrea covered his hand with her own and smiled. “Aren’t we a pair?” When Fenris chuckled she grew somber and continued. “You don’t have to prove anything, Fenris.” 

She dropped her hand and turned away, wrapping her arms around herself and staring at the dying fire. “I’m sorry. I feel like I’m at sea in rowboat. I never know which way my emotions are going to take me and you’re taking the brunt.”

Fenris stepped up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. He stood there, silently, while she gazed into space. They stood that way for several minutes before Dre sighed.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather we avoid Chantry involvement. I can’t imagine that would end in anything but tears. Besides, there is no reason to rush. After all, I still haven’t made it out of the house yet.” 

Fenris kissed the top of her head and murmured his assent. “Still, it would be a shame to waste the dress.”

Dre leaned her head back on his shoulder and looked up him, smiling. “It would, wouldn’t it? Thank you, for saying yes.”

“How could I say anything else?”  
~~~  
Dre sat, eyes closed and legs folded into a neat tailor’s seat, on the rug near the fireplace. Before he’d left, Fenris added several logs to the embers and the fire snapped and popped contentedly to itself. Alone in the room, Dre sought to still her tumbling thoughts. She tried to focus her mind the way her father had taught her, imagining a private garden. No matter what she tried, that garden, that safe place that she had retreated to time and again no longer seemed safe. Sighing, she realized that for now, at least, she needed something more than peaceful garden filled with flowers and a wandering brook. She needed something strong, with walls to keep out the demons pestering her on the edges of her consciousness. Walls high enough to keep out the ghosts of Alrik and his men.

Straightening her back and taking a deep breath, she began to build a fortress. High stone walls rose around her, brick by brick, their dark grey strength imbued with her magic preventing all those who wished to harm her from entering. She kept the garden intact within the walls she built, changing the brook to a small lake. 

With the walls high and strong around her and their towering strength protecting her, she began to focus on her breathing. Taking deep even breaths, she worked on relaxing each muscle group and breathing out the tension. Slowly but surely, Dre felt the tightness leave and calmed for the first time in days. Looking around her fortress, she focused on the safe feeling the walls provided. She wandered the garden, admiring the blooming flowers until she came to the small lake. She lay down by the water and closed her eyes, smiling.

She lost track of time as she relaxed by the lake. Within these walls, she felt safe for the first time since Alrik had uttered those spiteful words in the predawn of Hightown. Here she could watch the gentle breeze ripple the waters of the lake, admire the profusion of wildflowers and simply be. She wanted to remember the peace she’d found here and keep it close. She knew she would need it when Donnick and Aveline arrived, but for now she focused on the newfound sense of serenity she’d conjured up inside her walled garden.

Outside of her safe place and back in the mansion, an hour had passed. Fenris entered the room, and seeing Andrea still meditating, quietly closed the door behind him. Setting his practice sword in the corner, he gathered up a fresh set of clothes. He needed to wash away the sweat and grime from his lesson with Durstan.

He slipped silently out of the room without disturbing Andrea and ran a hot bath. Quickly shedding his dirty clothes, he sank gratefully into the warm water. Immediately dipping under the water, he rinsed off, pushing his wet hair back from his face as he emerged before leaning back against the tub. He closed his eyes and breathed in the steam as the heat drained away the last of his stiffness.

With his eyes closed, Fenris remembered Andrea twirling in the dusty cellar room. The lantern light had caught and sparkled in the beadwork as she laughed, a sound he had thought he might never hear again. Watching her, so beautiful and happy, he’d managed to forget the horrors of the last few days. Three days. That’s all it had been. Three days ago, Isabella uttered a few words and his world had tilted. Even now, the terror and fury that had ripped through him with her statement lingered just below the surface. He might hate magic, certainly he hated the Abomination, but without both, he would never had the chance to see Andrea spinning in the dim light in the wedding dress Leandra saved for her. Never had the chance to accept a proposal that surprised Andrea as much as it did him.

He smiled, remembering the sight of Andrea shucking her robes and slipping into that dress. It was so like her, to forget everything around her. Helping her into the mass of cream silk, he no longer saw the bloody and broken woman he’d carried back through the Undercity, simply the lover he hadn’t even realized he feared lost. Maker, but she was beautiful.

And she was his. The mere thought of it still astonished him, filled him with jittery delight and a warm heaviness in his belly. Someday, perhaps not soon, but nearer now than he dared to believe before, all of Thedas would know. 

When he had run from the blood and death of the Fog Warrior encampment all those years ago, he never imagined that his life might someday be like this. He expected nothing less than continual bloodshed, constant running and eventual capture or death. The reality had turned out quite different, all because of Andrea. She’d given him a reason to stay, the means to wait for Danarius and so much more.

She’d given him a future.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Aveline paced in front of the fireplace in Hawke’s sitting room. Her long strides covered the space rapidly and she spun on her heel to continue back the way she came. Her mind was awhirl. What stroke of madness had convinced her to allow this folly to happen? Her husband stood ready to face the wrath of an unstable mage, one who had already, by all reports, knocked her lover on his ass with a lightning spell and almost done the same thing more than once to a whole host of others. This was insanity of the highest order. Donnic could be killed. Killed by her best friend. What made her think this was a good idea? She had to stop it, before it was too late.

“Donnic, we should go.”

“Calm down, love. You’ll wear a hole in the carpet.”

“I’m serious,” she hissed, stopping her pacing and facing her husband. “This is the single most insane thing that Varric has ever asked me to do. I will not allow it.”

“Aveline, we discussed this.”

“Not really,” Aveline frowned, a wild and panicked look in her eyes. “You agreed and I…I didn’t stop you.”

“I owe Hawke my life. At least twice. More importantly, we owe her for all she did to get us together. You do remember that night at the Hanged Man? Sitting there for hours, just Hawke and I, waiting for you to show up. If it hadn’t been for Hawke, you might still be sending me inappropriate gifts and pining away.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Come, Aveline. I want to do this. Hawke will not hurt me. Singe me, maybe, but not hurt me.”

“That’s not funny.”

Donnic chuckled and took Aveline chin in his gloved hand. “It is. A little bit, “ he smiled. When Aveline shook her head and looked down, he continued. “This is my choice. It’s not often I get the chance to do something for Dre. Let me do this.”

Aveline sighed as Donnic wrapped her in his embrace, laying her head on his armored shoulder. “I owe her as much as you do. Maybe more. And I want to help her, I do, but I’m frightened."

“Shh, love. It will all right. You’ll see.”

\---  
The moment of truth had arrived. Aveline and Donnic were downstairs, waiting. Dre kept her breathing slow and steady as she sat on the edge of the bed. She sought to keep the image of her walled sanctuary in her mind and the peace it provided. Going downstairs and facing her fears frankly terrified her. Some small rational part of her mind knew that delaying would help nothing, might make things worse. The longer she delayed, the more her mind could imagine all the many things that could go wrong.

Varric’s plan was solid. There really was only so long she could hide out in the manor before Kirkwall began to wonder where their Champion had disappeared. Only so long before the knowledge that she was hiding would get back to the Templars. She might hate the crazy bitch, but Meredith was no fool. She’d soon make the connection between a suddenly secluded and defensive Hawke and her missing rogue brothers.

A sudden flash of Alrik’s leering face skittered across Dre’s consciousness and she slammed up her retreat’s walls. Not now, you slimy bastard.

She jumped at the sound of the bathroom door opening but relaxed when she felt the warm weight of Aibhne leaning against her knees, the dog woofed softly in greeting as Fenris entered the room. She watched him from the corner of her eye as he crossed the space to their armoire, drying his hair as he went. He was dressed in only his small clothes and she smiled as she watched the play of smooth muscle underneath the Lyrium tattoos that swirled across his body and disappeared beneath the small scrap of cloth. It was one of Isabela’s favorite topics, trying to get Dre to tell her just how far those tattoos went. She would be one of the first to admit she was glad Danarius was dead, but she had many an occasion to admire his handiwork. He was a sick, deviant bastard by all accounts, but only a fool denied the artistry he’s achieved on his living tapestry.

Dre watched as Fenris pulled on his spare leggings and padded undertunic. Still setting the thick cloth against his torso, he joined her on the bed, after scratching Aibhne’s ears.

“How are you?”

“Truthfully?” she asked, looking into his eyes as she swept his still damp hair out of his face. He nodded. “Terrified.” She kept attempting to arrange the silky strands of his hair into some semblance of order before giving up with a laugh. “It’s getting long. Time for a haircut?”

“Perhaps another time.” He caught her hand between his own and brought it down to his knee. “You don’t have to do this. Not today.”

“I do. I really do. It won’t get any easier, waiting. I so don’t want to hurt him. Aveline might never forgive me. I might never forgive me.”

Fenris sighed and squeezed her hand. “It’s bloody awful when the dwarf is right, isn’t it?”

“It is. I just have to get to the Hightown market, buy Durstan and Cormac some much-needed gear and make the appropriate noises about outfitting for a trip to the Deep Roads. It’s not that far and there are rarely any Templars about. Besides, can you imagine? Me? NOT wanting to go shopping? That would raise more suspicion than hiding out here.”

Fenris chuckled. “As long as I do not have to carry your packages. I am not a pack mule.”

Dre smiled, a genuine smile that lit up her whole face and made Fenris relax the tiniest bit. Somewhere in there was the woman he loved. Every bit of evidence of the old Andrea, no matter how small, gave him hope in her ultimate ability to persevere. He took a deep breath and stood up, pulling Andrea upright by the hand he still held.

“Shall we?”

Dre tightened her grip against his fingers and nodded. “I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure.”

“’What you have created, no one can tear asunder.’ From the Canticle of Trials, is it not? Appropriate.”

"Yes, well. I was never much for the Chant but that one always seemed to speak to me.” She took a deep breath and nodded once, sharply. “Time to face the Maker.”

~~

At the foot of the stairs stood Varric, Merrill and Bodhan. They watched in silence as Hawke and Fenris walked hand in hand towards them, Aibhne trotting a step behind. When they stepped off the last stair, Merrill moved forward and extended a hand towards Hawke. She took it, smiling crookedly. 

“Donnic and Aveline are in the study. Whenever you’re ready, Hawke.”

Andrea nodded and squeezed the petite elf’s hand gently before letting go. As her hand dropped down towards her side it encountered a warm, furry head. The Mabari leaned into her leg and chuffed softly, gazing up at her master with warm brown eyes. 

“Let’s do it.”

Varric nodded and motioned for Bodhan to step aside. He pulled the door open himself and slipped quickly inside, disappearing from sight immediately. Dre clutched Fenris’ hand and he ground his teeth at the sudden pain. Aibhne whined softly and nudged Dre’s leg. She nodded absently at the hound and, taking once last fortifying breath, stepped forward.

The room was well lit yet despite this she did not immediately see Donnic and Aveline. Crossing fully into the study, she glanced around fretfully, seeking for the others in the room. Fenris and Aibhne were still at her side and Merrill just behind. A soft clink of armor caused her to snap her head to the left and what she found there stopped her breath in her lungs.

A man in armor. A Templar shield on his back. He faced away from her and Andrea was suddenly filled with terror. Voices whispered in her ears and her body grew rigid.

 _Burn them. Stop them now before they can hurt you. Destroy him while you have the chance_.

Andrea closed her eyes and dropping Fenris’ hand, covered her ears, bending over and panting. _Not now you filthy nug humping bastards. Leave me be. You have nothing to offer me. My magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base. Never you. Not then. Not now. Never._ The walls of her mental sanctuary slammed up and Andrea relaxed fractionally. She stood straight and opened her eyes, reaching out blindly for Aibhne. One hand found the hound’s ruff and gripped the loose fur. The Mabari barked once, softly and Donnic turned slowly.

 _Alrik is dead. This is not him._

His turning seemed to take days as Andrea watched. Her eyes never left the shield emblazoned with the Templar sword until it finally slipped from view. His face was covered with a plain helm and the firelight gleamed on his plated chest. As he finished turning to face her, he snapped into parade rest. 

Behind that helm could be anyone, but his stance gave him away, no Templar stood like this. Andrea smiled, just the barest lift of her lips. 

“Donnic. You are a brave man, but you’re fooling no one. Your wife has drilled too much discipline into her Guards. No one would believe you a Templar.”

“Well, that was anticlimactic, Hawke. How am I supposed to write a dramatic story if you don’t at least toss off a lighting bolt or two?”  
Dre turned her head and grinned at Varric. He was tucked into a corner in the shadow. As she watched, Bianca returned to her spot on his back. 

“Did Bianca want to play?”

“Maker, no. But she was ready to be a distraction. If needed.”

She laughed and turned back to Donnic. Aveline stepped out from behind her husband and locked eyes with her friend.

“Hawke. How are you feeling?”

“Honestly? Far better than I expected.”

“I’m glad, Champion,“ Donnic said. He took a single step forward and Hawke flinched, stepping back reflexively. Aibhne nudged her leg and Fenris slid forward, placing himself half a step in front and angling towards her. Donnic immediately froze, as did everyone else in the room.

Hawke closed her eyes and recalled the calming atmosphere of her meditation. The room waited, the collective breath of everyone in the room stilled. When she opened her eyes again, the sudden sigh that escaped them all seemed to ease the tension in the air.

Andrea slipped her arm around Fenris’ waist, dropping her head on his shoulder. He wrapped one arm around her and guided her towards the divan. Donnic stepped aside as they drew near, pulling the helm off as he moved to the fireplace. Aveline joined him and helped him remove the unfamiliar shield. She looked at it, the symbol of those who had violated her best friend and wondered what Wesley would have done. She believed that he would have been appalled at Arlik and his ilk, perhaps even driven to take up arms against them. Wesley’d had no love of mages, but he was a good man. One who would not have fit into the perversion that was Kirkwall’s Templar Order. Sighing, she set the shield aside, leaning its heraldry towards the wall.

Merrill slipped out of the room and signaled Bodhan to bring refreshments. Easing her slight frame back between the slightly open doors, she looked around the room. Fenris and Hawke were seated together on the divan, Aibhne resting at Hawke’s feet. Their heads were bent together and from across the room she couldn’t hear their whispered conversation but she smiled nonetheless. She was happy her friends had finally found some happiness together. It would surprise Fenris, she thought, that she counted him friend. He’d said many a harsh thing to her over the years but she believed his experience had left him reluctant to trust mages, with good reason. She still shuddered to remember the evidence of Hadriana’s depravity. 

Despite the horrors done to her, she firmly believed Hawke would survive and flourish. She admired the other mage. Hawke was principled, strong yet caring and loving. Marethari had told Hawke upon their first meeting that she had a light in her heart. Merrill believed this. She prayed to the Gods that it would never go out.

“Well, Hawke. I think this calls for a toast,” Varric rumbled as he snagged a passing glass of whisky from Bodhan’s tray. Crossing over to the fireplace, he stood beside Merrill’s chair and struck a pose. His sense of drama called for it after all. 

“To Andrea Hawke. Champion of Kirkwall. Mage extraordinaire. Friend. May the Maker shine his light upon you because Ancestors know you’ve seen enough darkness for twelve lifetimes.”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

It was at once both far more simple and far more difficult than Andrea had anticipated.

The five of them – Fenris, Aibhne, Durstan, Cormac and Hawke –gathered in the foyer the next morning. Fenris stood to her right; her hand wrapped firmly around his upper arm; Durstan and Cormac a half step behind them, Durstan behind Fenris and Cormac behind Aibhne. Hawke’s left hand rested on the scruff of Aibhne’s neck as the mabari panted patiently by her side. Together, they stepped out of her home and into the bright blue Kirkwall morning. The city moved around them much like any other day. Servants passed them on their way to the market, a pair of nobles chatted noisily about nothing of import across the courtyard and a lone chantry sister nodded as she passed by their group. The astonishing normalcy of it took Andrea’s breath away.  
Fenris covered the hand on his arm with his and gave a gentle squeeze before inclining his head towards the path to the market. She smiled brightly at him and they headed on their way. The short trip to the market was uneventful and they met Varric at Jean Luc’s stall just as planned.

“Hawke! Good morning,” Varric called. 

“Good morning to you, too. You’re awfully chipper for so early in the morning.”

“Oh, you know me, any day I can spend your coin is a good one.”

“Right. Shall we get started then?”

Three sets of clothing apiece are ordered for the newest members of Hawke’s household, but only after much bickering about what the appropriate colors should be. Apparently, it wasn’t enough that the clothing be sturdy and fit well. According to Varric, it was impetrative that they bear the Hawke crest and colors. The only problem with this idea was one, the Hawke “house” had no colors and two Hawke herself thought it was a ridiculous idea. 

Varric, of course, won.

After reluctantly ceding Varric’s point with the clothing, Hawke was more than happy to take charge of outfitting Cormac with some decent daggers. She dickered with Korval over price after having Cormac handle very nearly every single short blade he offered before she found a pair suitable. She and Varric argued the finer points of medium armor with Olaf while selecting a set of sturdy leathers for Cormac and a well-preserved set of reinforced plate for Durstan.

In addition to outfitting Cormac and Durstan, Hawke arranged for supplies for her latest “expedition” and finally as the noon bell sounded from the Chantry, they headed back. The morning was so completely successful and so completely normal, that Hawke relaxed fully for the first time since that morning. So relaxed in fact that when she and Fenris and Aibhne reached the top of the stairs heading towards her estate, the Templar in front of her escaped her notice until Fenris’ sudden stop brought her up short. 

They had been deep in conversation about the merits of commissioning a blade for Durstan when the sudden stop snapped her attention back to her surroundings. Looking up at the Templar, the leering face of Alrik flitted across his face and she froze.  
“Champion,” the Templar muttered, giving her the barest nod before sidestepping around her and continuing down the stairs. Hawke and her group remained frozen on the stairs. Durstan slipped past them and took up guard in front. Cormac turned, his hands drifting towards his new blades as he watched the Templar continue towards the stairs to Lowtown.

“Easy there, son. Don’t get too twitchy,” Varric mumbled as he placed a gloved hand on Cormac’s elbow. The youth nodded and lowered his hands, but his eyes never left the retreating armored back. Varric grimaced and moved his hand to the small of Hawke’s back as Aibhne leaned into her legs.

“Andrea?”

Fenris’ voice, combined with the touch of Varric and the mabari, brought Hawke back to herself. She shuddered and blinked before turning to Fenris and giving him a weak smile.

“Let’s go home.”

The rest of their journey was short and uneventful. For this Hawke was resolutely glad. There were times that being so close to the market had its drawbacks but today those all dimmed. As the doors to the estate closed behind them, the group sighed collectively. Cormac peeled off from the group once they entered the main hall, heading towards the kitchen.

He was on a mission – find Bodhan and Orana and get some food and drink into his mistress before she dropped like a stone. 

His hands on her elbows, Fenris guided Hawke towards the den and the waiting divan. Varric and Durstan followed close behind. The frown on Varric’s face was evidence of his concern. In contrast, a small smile graced Durstan’s lips. No matter what the others thought, he was convinced that their chance meeting had been a victory.

“Well. That was exciting,” Hawke muttered darkly as she sank down on the divan. Fenris joined her, one arm slipping around her waist and drawing her close.

“Carissima, how are you?”

“Truthfully?” She said, looking at him with one eyebrow quirked. “Pretty good.”

“I think it well, Messere. Very well,” Durstan said. “The Templar didn’t notice anything. More importantly, he didn’t seem interested in Herself. Not at all.”

Varric leant against the wall near the fireplace and gave Durstan a shrewd look. “I think the boy is right. You froze a bit, but we all did. No one seemed to notice.”

“Be that as it may, Varric. I still reacted.”

“Yes, but we all did. Cormac reaching for his daggers was more likely to tip off the Templar that something was amiss. And I think you’re missing the real point that Durstan was making. The Templar knew who you were and he kept going.”

Hawke was quiet for a moment, reviewing the encounter in her mind. She had been so focused on the threat the Templar posed that she hadn’t stopped to really think about his actions. He had acknowledged her by title, nodded and kept going. The Order wasn’t looking for her.

The relief that flooded through her caught her by surprise. She hadn’t realized that she feared being held responsible fro Alrik’s death. The Order could easily use his death against her; use it as an excuse to throw her into the Circle or worse. Obviously, this was the reason behind Varric’s machinations, she’d known that rationally. Still, she’d taken her memories of Alrik and his cronies and transferred them onto the entire order, focusing on what they’d done to her person and forgotten, on some level, what the real threat truly was.

This was an old fear, in essence. An old threat couched in new terms and something she could handle. Something she could focus her other fears onto. Something she could use.

“I see,” she said. “So, I don’t know about you but I could use something to eat.”

Hawke stood just as Cormac opened the door and stuck his head inside. “Bodhan says to ask if you want to eat here or in the dining room, messeres.”

Hawke smiled at him, her first truly genuine smile directed his way and he ducked his head to hide the blush that flared to life on his cheeks.

“I think our successful outing deserves a minor celebration. Let’s eat in style. Tell Bodhan we’ll be eating in the dining room. All of us, mind you.”

“Yes, messere.”

Cormac waved Durstan over and took off as soon as the other boy grasped the door. Pulling it further open, Durstan gestured for the others to leave. Aibhne barked once and charged out the door after Cormac. Hawke took Fenris’ arm as he stood and together they left the room, Varric and Durstan on their heels.

“So, Hawke. I don’t know about you, but I think these two are going to fit right in.”

“I think you may be onto to something, Varric. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“You wound me, Hawke.”

“I think your ego will survive. It hasn’t shown any signs of failure to thrive yet and I doubt it will start today.”


End file.
